


Not the Only One

by Tobyaudax



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Barry Allen Whump, Canon-Typical Violence, Disabled Character, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Slow Burn, Vampire Barry Allen, Vampire Hunter Oliver Queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-06-12 10:32:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15337983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tobyaudax/pseuds/Tobyaudax
Summary: Barry hated feeding- he hated most things about being a vampire, though his sense of self-preservation was too great for him to up and walk into the sun.Even after what had happened to his parents, even though he was very good at it, Oliver took no pleasure in destroying vampires.Thrust together by accident, a young vampire is entangled in a Hunter's quest for vengeance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Grampa's First Olivarry Fic! I've only seen the episodes of _Arrow_ that Barry debuted on and then the various crossover tie-ins, so I'm not super familiar with DCTV Oliver. Hence an AU- an author can get away with all _kinds_ of things in an AU!  
>  Title comes from the song [I'm Not the Only One, by Atlanta Rhythm Section.](https://youtu.be/iCw7Px9k6pA)
> 
> This is tentatively for Olivarry Week 2018 and entirely dedicated to [blue_wonderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_wonderer/pseuds/blue_wonderer).
> 
> Special thanks to [Sophia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaCatherine/pseuds/SophiaCatherine) for betaing most of it!

Being a young vampire sucked (Barry gave himself a pat on the back for the wordplay). Among the limited impulse control and increased bloodlust in the presence of so much as a paper cut, there was the weakness to sunlight and need, for the first decade or two, to sleep and travel in a box of dirt from his homeland. He wasn't remotely as strong as older vampires and his mentalism ("Just call it 'mind control'," he'd grumbled at his Maker) was nonexistent- he couldn't even Nudge dogs to do what he wanted. Things like garlic, silver and [being bound by counting things](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vampire#Creating_vampires) were, thankfully, myths, and he still wasn't sure how he felt about being able to survive either a stake to the heart or being beheaded, but not both at the same time. The enhanced senses- sight, scent and hearing-were nice, though. They certainly helped him avoid the Hunter that been at his heels the past several nights.

Barry was currently holed up in the ruins of a church, near a river, only a few miles from the Pacific Ocean. He'd found a loophole of sorts in the 'box of homeland dirt' law by keeping a pouch of the stuff on his person at all times. He hadn't had a chance to see if that would prevent him from being allowed on an airplane and wasn't ready to test the theory in full just yet. So he stuck to moving on foot- he was faster than even an Olympic-level athlete, though still a far cry from catching up to his Maker- or taking public transport. His little "dirt bag" (another snicker, muffled into his shoulder, since the Hunter had gotten close again) even let him cross moving water.

He didn't want to spend the day alone, buried in strange earth, against the furthest wall from the sun, but the Hunter wasn't giving him much choice. Sunrise was only a couple hours away and already a portion of the sky, visible through the huge, broken, stained glass window on what remained of the altar wall, was starting to glow a hazy pink. Vampires weren't social creatures by nature, but Barry Allen was. The only reason he'd stayed with his Maker for as long as he had was out of loneliness (and lies- believing Eobard when he'd insisted Barry was unable to leave him for the first 50 years). But the Hunter had separated them and Barry had been chased far enough away that he was no longer sure his Maker had survived the encounter- the link (he refused to call it a "bond" after he'd discovered the extent of Eobard's deception) they shared was silent for the first time in five years. He didn't know how he felt about that, yet.

As the pink sky bled into a warm orange, Barry sighed and heaved himself off the ground, one hand on his snarling stomach and the other bracing him against the wall as he trudged past the pews towards a far corner. He'd have to feed once he woke up - the last of his vampire strength would be used to dig his temporary resting place as quickly as possible. He hated feeding- he hated most things about being a vampire, though his sense of self-preservation was far too great for him to up and walk into the sun (that, and he was very much the coward Eobard always said he was). But taking blood from humans was just awful; vampires couldn't survive on non-human blood. Though it wouldn't make them sick, it didn't sustain them or make the thirst go away for very long. Barry counted the years to a time when he could successfully charm his victims into not feeling a thing when he drank from them.

He had never sought out humans, either on his own or with his Maker. He'd been kept in the compound, in or near the library or locked up in the basement, the entire time. Eobard brought meals to him, unconscious people, already bleeding; but more often he was given one or two bags of cold blood, taken from a hospital or local blood bank, judging by the labels on them. Barry told himself that he preferred the cold bags, but every time he was ordered to bite into a living human, he recognized the lie for what it was. Everything about his new life had been built on lies, why not adapt?

Arms pumping and musty earth flying, Barry carved out a hole roughly five feet deep, wide and long- he liked to curl up on his side when he slept, so didn't bother leaving enough room to stretch out to his full height. He cast his dwindling senses around for any sign of the Hunter and, finding himself accompanied by only rats and bugs, Barry dropped into his makeshift bed, scraping the displaced earth in after him. It had taken a surprisingly short amount of time for him to get over his claustrophobia and he now found being surrounded by cool dirt to be a comfort. He often imagined his mother's hugs, his father's warm hands on his shoulders, his childhood love's fingers in his hair and her tiny body pressed tight against him in the dark. Vampires didn't dream, and sometimes Barry regretted that loss of his humanity most of all.

\--

Contrary to his family's generations-long, secret profession, Oliver Queen didn't enjoy killing. Even after what had happened to his parents, even though he was very good at it, Oliver took no pleasure in destroying vampires. When he'd been in training, he had to be reminded constantly that it wasn't murder to kill a vampire- they were already dead, they were monsters, they needed to be exterminated. It had taken facing his first vampire, captured for training purposes by his father, and seeing the creature's "true face" to make him fight and eventually land the final blow. What had appeared to be a frightened human woman, not long out of her teens, had turned into a beast with a mouth impossibly full of teeth. She changed before his eyes in what was probably a matter of seconds, but Oliver remembered every part of her horrific transformation in nightmare detail- the flattening and bat-like flare of her nose, the way her ears elongated and grew, laying almost flush against her skull, the sickly, grey pallor of her skin and the almost avian talons on her hands.

She'd literally flown across the ground towards him and it had taken everything Oliver had learned and fought for to drive the stake through her heart, chop her head free of her body and then light the entire shrieking thing ablaze. He didn't sleep for three days afterwards, but his parents and his trainer were so proud of him. The kills never got easier, but Oliver was able to lose himself in the hunt, the tracking of the creatures. It was like a game, something he could have a little fun with before the inevitable fight to the death. He was well aware of the fact that each battle could be his last, but it was easy to put those thoughts aside as he dined on greasy fast food and watched laughably bad porn in a dingy hotel room.

The Queens were one of the oldest Hunter families, a "Clan", his father often called them, harkening back to when they were called "Mac Shuibhne". They were easily the wealthiest, adding to their fortune over the years with spoils taken from vampires whose treasure stretched farther back than Hunters, themselves. Oliver had been raised with the knowledge of that money and even gained access to it once he'd come of age, made his first kill on his own, but he'd been instructed, time and again, to be frugal. Keeping a low profile was crucial, especially for a Queen. So the places he stayed while hunting were dirty, the food he ate cheap and the vehicles at his disposal functional, but nondescript. The only things of quality and value he carried were his weapons and his personal Kit.

Most vampires, especially the younger ones, 100 years and under, weren't susceptible to religious items. Vampires could be atheists as much as humans and therefore the cross, Star of David, and other symbols had no effect on them. But every so often an Old One came out of hiding, those monsters of nearly a thousand years, and they feared all things holy. It was specific to the religion of their country of origin, to how they were raised, long ago, as humans, but those items had real, physical effects on them. Oliver had never faced an Old One and, every time he opened his Kit and ran his fingers over the small bible, the vial of holy water he replenished at every church he came across, and the silver Christ figure, he hoped he never would.

Hunting had been a game with distasteful consequences until the night his parents and trainer were murdered. He'd only discovered the bodies of his parents, strung up side-by-side in the massive foyer, in a mockery of the Crucifixion; Slade was nowhere to be found, and Oliver had searched every inch of Queen Property for him. His sister had nearly completed her own training back then- was it really only a year ago?- and tried to follow him when he set out to track down the vampire, but he'd made Thea swear to stay and protect their home, finish her Hunter education. The Lance sisters, their family not as old as Oliver's but just as skilled, were sent to work with Thea and help keep an eye on the territory. Oliver hadn't spoken to any of them in more than a month- right after he'd found the nest of his parent's and, he'd assumed, Slade's killer.

The creature called himself Eobard and gleefully took credit for the Queen murders. But he hadn't worked alone- he'd had a man on the inside all along. Slade Wilson, Oliver's trainer, mentor and life-long friend, had sold the lives of Moira and Robert for immortality. It was the worst fight of Oliver's life and he nearly gave in, succumbed to Eobard's taunts and Slade's promises of seeing his parents again.

"Your old man'd be real proud of you, kid," Slade told him, leaning over Oliver where he was struggling to catch his breath on the ground. "I'm proud of you-"

"Fuck you, traitor," Oliver spat up at him. "Goddamned monster!"

"Atta boy. Just one more thing to teach you, one final lesson: mercy. Gonna make this quick and painless for you, Oliver."

Slade had lied about everything else, his entire life, so why would he be honest now? It was tempting, though. So tempting to lay down and rest. For all he knew, he would see his parents again in some kind of afterlife. But then he remembered Thea, and his family's reputation and honor. He thought of Slade walking the earth and polluting it alongside Eobard. And he found the strength to rise, to finish the fight.

He felt no joy when he severed Slade's head, staked it to his chest and covered him with cleansing fire. Oliver caught up with Eobard and dispatched him on autopilot. But his work wasn't done- Eobard howled and gibbered that he would have his revenge, that his progeny would chase Oliver for the rest of his "wretched, short little life". Oliver hadn't said a word, silently vowing that he would end that creature, as well.

He didn't register the damage to his right hand until he grew dizzy from blood loss. It was the first time he'd used his name for something other than Hunting- gaining quick admittance to the nearest hospital and then a helicopter ride to the best one in the Midwest. His doctors consulted with surgeons around the country and then the world, but no one could save his hand- it had been amputated just below the wrist. Oliver focused on adjusting to the prosthetic, teaching himself to shoot his bow and write left-handed, and in researching everything he could find about Eobard Thawne and his known associates. He tried not to think about Slade. He'd called home and spoken to Thea long enough to inform her that their parents were avenged and that he would be gone a while longer. He didn't see fit to mention his hand- it was a minor setback.

Almost two months later, Oliver returned to Thawne's nest and through the limited access he was able to gain, discovered only a name- Bartholomew Henry Allen. It was old-fashioned enough that the man had to be as old as Thawne and Oliver moved out, intent only on the disturbingly obvious trail the vampire had left as he'd fled. He had a substantial head start and powers the extent of which Oliver didn't fully know, but like his creator and… Slade before him, Allen would fall to Oliver's hand. It only took four days to catch up with him, Oliver keeping back just far enough to not be detected. He would treat Allen like an Old One until the creature proved otherwise.

The hunt ended at sunrise on the fifth day, at the ruins of a church so old, Oliver couldn't determine the denomination. He wondered if the state of the place, the fact that it was missing most of the ceiling and an entire wall, removed the holiness of the structure. It would explain how the vampire was, quite literally, holed up inside. If Allen was as old as Thawne, then digging him up in daylight wouldn't give Oliver much of an advantage. The vampire would be only momentarily disoriented and likely fight more desperately, recklessly, under the brilliant sun. Oliver circled the perimeter more times than he could count, checking every entrance and scouring the foundation for weaknesses and tunnels. Once he'd committed the layout to memory, he hiked back to his vehicle- a Chevy Nova that was on its last few miles- and headed into the nearest, small town.

He would eat a good meal, rest, and return to burn the place to the ground before sundown.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vampire and Hunter face off- neither walk away completely unscathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barry felt life, blood, above him, unknowable hours before sunset. He couldn't think of much beyond his thirst, having gone without feeding entirely while on the run. Any time he'd get close to a human, the memory of Eobard tearing someone apart made him flee at top speed. He kept to heavily wooded areas, mountainous regions that hadn't seen humans in years. He was starving. The scent of blood so close was too tempting; he started to dig himself out, getting within a couple feet of the surface before the weight and heat of the sun forced him still. He curled in on himself again, tighter, clutching his stomach and mewling pitifully. He'd never been so hungry before, not even when his Maker had taken him away, locked him up until he swore loyalty to Eobard and Eobard alone. Oaths were far more binding to a vampire than to a human, especially one made between Maker and offspring. But Eobard could well be dead… Barry slipped back into slumber, twisting and moaning with his hunger.

He was woken again by heat so quick and harsh, he thought someone had dug him up and pulled him into the sun. But he was still underground and as he clumsily extended his senses, he could feel the sun slipping safely below the horizon. Something else was warming up his refuge- fire! Even without decapitation and a stake bursting his heart, fire could terribly injure and eventually kill one of his kind. Barry had seen a great beast of a vampire, once. He'd been arguing alongside another man Barry never even caught a glimpse of, was nearly covered in burn scars, flesh twisted almost beautifully over his exposed arms and torso. Barry had liked the man for disagreeing with Eobard, alone, but had never encountered him again.

The heat increased, flames lapping through the dry, upper layers of dirt. Barry dug deeper and sideways, arms moving frantically and a plaintive whine caught in his burning throat. He needed blood, he needed to escape the flame and he Needed Blood. He burst through the surface outside the ruins of the church, nearly ten feet from the blaze and immediately felt his face shift into hunting mode. Barry didn't like his vampire features, the mouthful of teeth were painful growing in and he hated the way his nose looked all smashed against his face, nostrils wider, damp and flared. His huge bat's ears lay almost flat against his skull, twitching at every sound. He fell to all fours, his shoes discarded days ago, the claws on his hands and feet digging into the soft, unburnt earth. Blood was near- he had to find the Blood and Feed!

"There you are," a voice called. Barry turned his head at the sound and chased after it in the next second. He was brought up short by an arrow in his shoulder, thrown backwards by the blow. It cleared the haze for a moment and he cried out at the pain. Another arrow was fired but he saw it coming, caught it out of the air and threw it to the ground with a snarl. The Hunter stood to one side of the burning ruins, soot-streaked and full of life's Blood. Barry howled and charged him again, taking an arrow in his other shoulder. His predator brain sent him into the woods, circling around silently, trying to creep up on his prey from behind. But there was a trap- a net made of thick rope and metal mesh, pulling him up into the canopy, dangling above the ground and unable to break free.

He shrieked and tore at the netting but only tangled his claws and got the small metal links caught in his teeth when he tried to chew free. One of the arrows was jerked loose from his shoulder and he was given more excruciating clarity, able to fully perceive the dire situation he'd gotten himself into. He was exhausted, starving, terrified, and blood was _so close!_ Barry let out a cry of frustration that quickly turned into a sob, thick tears staining his face and washing away some of the ash from the fire. He was going to die there, so close to food, so far from home.

\--

Oliver stared up at the creature sobbing and hopelessly snared, and he felt a tiny sting of pity. There was no way Allen was an Old One- they could go months, even years, it was said, without a drop of blood. No attacks, deaths or missing people had been reported between the time Allen had fled Thawne's and Oliver finding him there, so the fact that he was starving after only a few weeks without blood meant he was just a child. In vampire terms, at least. Oliver hadn't gotten a clear look at him before Allen shifted into his true form, but he was tall and lean, easily the same height or taller than Oliver. The plaintive wailing above him further suggested Allen's vampiric youth- he sounded less like a wounded animal and more like a hungry, frightened child.

But he was still a vampire, a fact made all too clear by, well, everything else about him. It didn't matter if he was days or months old- he was a creature of evil, an abomination, and he needed to be dealt with. If anything, Oliver would be putting him out of his misery. It would be his first mercy kill. At the thought of mercy, though, Oliver was reminded of his parents. Of Slade and his training, the lies he'd told Oliver's entire life, the way he'd looked, slavering and monstrous as he stood over Oliver, promising a quick death. _Mercy_.

Oliver cut the anchoring rope with a shout of his own- the anguish he'd bottled up for more than a year pouring out of him. He tore at the rope and chainmail, tugging painfully on his prosthetic as he untangled the creature so he could look it in the eyes as he killed it. Once the vampire was free, Oliver drew his sharpest, heaviest machete, holding it ready to his side, eyes intent, anticipating attack. But Allen didn't move except to curl up in a ball, like he was trying to make himself as small as possible. He was still crying, quiet, choked little sobs, peppered with words Oliver couldn't make out. His disgust and rage faded as he watched the vampire clutch his stomach and moan. Allen jerked his head up and back; his words rang clearer, voice rough, still grief-stricken,

"God be merciful wipe away my sins! Wash- wash me of evil- of my evil! Lord make me- cleanse me of my sin!"

Despite the items in their Kits, the Queens weren't a religious family. But basic phrases for several religions were memorized and refreshed, for use against those Old Ones who were vulnerable. And even if he weren't a Hunter, Oliver would know a prayer when he heard one. The blade felt even heavier in his hand, dangling from fingers gone limp. The monster, man, vampire child crying for forgiveness in front of him was something for which Oliver couldn't imagine ever being prepared. Clearly Allen wasn't an Old One, as he continued to beg and pray, his words muffled when he folded in on himself again. But he was obviously a vampire, and all vampires were evil. Oliver felt a headache bloom behind his eyes.

"Create in me, Lord please, a pure heart. A new, loyal spirit. Don't banish me from you- do not take away your holy spirit! God give me the joy of your salvation- make me willing to obey you!"

Vampire behaviour wasn't well-observed or documented. Texts and documents were passed down and sometimes updated, detailing only information relevant to tracking down and killing them. Amongst themselves, in what passed for "families" with them, vampires could form bonds, psychic links between creators and created. It was a theory, more of a story, really- something that appeared in more than a few books as a means to coax out information in regards to other vampires. That was rarely successful, though, since it had been proven that vampires were fiercely loyal to their small family groups- from one vampire to another, their word was their bond. Oliver ran those things over and over in his mind as he watched Allen shudder and pray. His words were slurring together and his vampire features had begun to fade- within a matter of minutes, he looked like a normal, human man. Perhaps a boy- his face was frighteningly young. Was he a child in more ways than one?

"Swear your loyalty to me and I'll let you live," Oliver heard himself say over the roar of the collapsing church. "What passes for life for your kind, anyway."

Allen's muttering tapered off and he slowly stared up at Oliver, eyes wide and shining with tears. His Adam's apple bobbed sharply as he swallowed. "What?"

"If you swear loyalty to me, to serve me as you would your creator, I'll let you live."

"…Why would you… do that? What happened-? Did you kill my- my maker?"

Oliver studied Allen's youthful face, staring into eyes that seemed older than he'd first thought, but far from ancient. He was still scared, still looked gaunt and starving, but those eyes were wary, almost hopeful, as well. "I did. Thawne's been destroyed."

"I swear," Allen said before Oliver had finished speaking. He levered himself gingerly onto his elbows, but at a sharp gesture from Oliver, stayed laying down. "I swear my life to you, my undying allegiance, to you and only you… er. …What's your name?"

"Queen. Oliver Queen."

"The Queens, of course. If anyone could stop him, it'd be you guys." Allen actually smiled up at him, then remembered what he'd been in the middle of and the smile turned bafflingly sheepish. "Right, sorry. I-," he paused again, winced, and continued, "I, Bartholomew Henry Allen, swear my life to you, Oliver Queen. You have my undying allegiance- you, and only you."

"I accept and will hold you to this, until the day one of us dies. I've read that your word is law, binding."

"You've read..? So you don't- know how this works? Oh." Oliver got the feeling that, if he could, Allen would be blushing. He was about to demand answers, test the depths of that loyalty, but Allen's stomach made a truly sickening sound and he threw himself back on the ground, hissing as he clutched his midsection.

"When did you last feed?" He regarded Allen coolly, posture relaxed but the machete firmly back in his hand and ready to strike at any second.

"Can't remember," Allen replied through grit teeth. Oliver could hear his molars grinding. "My- Eobard had me locked up, for not- something I did. It's been a- been a while."

"There's a hospital near here," Oliver told him, dropping into a crouch a few feet away. "I'm going to take you to my car, drive you there and get you some blood. You will stay in the car until I tell you otherwise- do you understand me? If you so much as touch the window I'll stake you."

"Got it," Allen managed to growl. He sounded pained, not angry. He didn't even seem ashamed to be taking orders- at least listening to orders- from a human. A Hunter, no less.

"Can you stand? Do I have to help you?"

"Please," Allen whispered, the word almost punched out of him. Oliver sighed, sheathing the knife and leaning closer, carefully maneuvering his left arm around the vampire and hauling him to his feet. He was much lighter than Oliver thought he'd be, given his height. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Seriously- do not talk about this. Once you're fed," Oliver grimaced at the word. "You're going to answer all of my questions about your service to me. And vampires in general."

"Not sure how much use- use I'll be. Only, I've only been one for about five years."

"Christ, just a baby," Oliver muttered as he half-walked, half-dragged Allen to his vehicle. It was nearly a mile from the smoldering church to the clearing where he'd left the Nova, but Allen didn't say a word during the entire trek. He did whimper and moan a few times, one hand slung over Oliver's shoulder and the other flexing over his stomach sporadically. Oliver expected him to reek of death, of rot and the tomb, but Allen mainly smelled like smoke and a garden after spring rain. He tore the remaining arrow from Allen's shoulder, grimacing at the sound it made and the lack of blood that accompanied the wound; the vampire really must have been starving. True to his word and Oliver's orders, Allen stayed in the car while Oliver snuck into the hospital and stole a cooler-full of donated blood. He would make a monetary donation to the place when he got home, maybe host a blood drive to make up for the theft.

He shuttled the vampire back to his motel and ordered him into the bathroom to drink his spoils and clean himself up. There were at least 15 bags of blood in the cooler and Oliver had no idea if that was enough or too much for one vampire; it wasn't the kind of information that had been useful before. _But I'll need to know, now_ , he reminded himself, grimly packing up most of his weapons. Allen returned to the main room an hour later, looking entirely like a human being- his face and hands were clean and pale, but there was a pink glow high on his cheeks. His too-full lips were almost comically red.

"Sit down over here, no sudden moves," Oliver ordered, pointing to the bed closest to the bathroom and away from the large front-facing window and only exit. Once Allen complied, Oliver faced him on the opposite bed, a stake slotted into the grip of his prosthetic and a notepad and pen in his left hand. Allen grinned at him as he sprawled out on the mattress.

"This an interview?"

"Something like that. I'll be asking all the questions, now. You didn't seem upset that I killed your creator- why is that." Oliver had developed a tendency to demand answers rather than actually ask for information.

Allen looked away, the smile falling from his face. He sat up and linked his hands between his legs, head hanging, posture shamed. "I, uh, I never wanted to be a vampire," he started quietly. "I'm not sure anyone really does."

"Some do," Oliver said, just as quietly. Allen gave him a quizzical look, head cocked to one side and looking somewhat like a dog. But realization dawned and the vampire blushed, all the way down to this collarbone, visible through his torn shirt. Oliver made a note to ask if blushing tapped into or wasted the blood he'd consumed.

"He used to tell me he saved my life, that I owed him. Made me swear a bond to him, my loyalty, you know? But he lied to me. About a lot of things. And, God help me, forgive me, I'm glad he's dead and can't do that to anyone else!"

Oliver recorded everything in shorthand, his personal code that all Hunters in the Queen family were encouraged to develop. Only Thea would be able to understand his notes. "What did you mean earlier, when you asked if I knew how your loyalty worked."

"Oh, that." Allen flushed again, smiling uncomfortably. "Okay. So. You probably won't like this. But, uhm. The only vow I could think of, how I gave you… told you all that? And you- well, you agreed to it, too. That's basically. I mean, it _is_ … We'remarriednow."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barry's prayer is modified from Psalm 51, a newer translation. It wont come up in this story, but he's Christian, Presbyterian (because that's what I grew up with and therefore only had to do minimal research for).
> 
> The vampire lore in this series has been cobbled together from many sources; I'm no expert on the subject, but I've done a lot of reading and research over the years. And there's a wealth of stories and "accounts" from which to mine, as well! Some things I've included- like beheading, staking the heart and then burning everything- were inspired by multiple sources. Brian Lumley's Necroscope series, most notably, but it turns out that's how Anne Rice does it, too (I've honestly read only one Anne Rice novel and I don't think it was about vampires).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions, some answers, and answers that lead to more questions. Unfortunately, Barry has a type.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI for anyone that was nervous last chapter: Barry and Eobard did **_not_** have any kind of sexual relationship. That is covered/answered in this chapter, but I wanted to get it out of the way.

Barry didn't want to see how the Hunter, Oliver Queen, reacted to the true meaning of the bond, but he couldn't look away from his face. It was at least a nice face, Barry admitted to himself when he'd finally fed and gotten a good look at his… new husband. Oliver seemed to take it rather well, at first. He glanced at his notebook and jotted down what looked like gibberish to Barry and was raising his head, likely to demand more answers, when the words and their meaning finally dawned.

Still he asked, voice even, "What did you just say." Oliver seemed to enjoy- well, he didn't look like he _enjoyed_ anything that Barry had seen- phrasing his questions like statements. Barry usually did the opposite, when he was nervous.

"The only loyalty oath I could think of was the one Eobard made me take, and it was a bond of marriage. I was starving and thought you were gonna kill me- I panicked!"

"You hated your maker, yet you married him?" Finally, an actual question! And a way to divert the Hunter's probable rage at their situation. Much as Barry didn't like talking about Eobard and their "relationship", it was better than getting staked and beheaded.

"Under duress," Barry answered. He toyed with a loose thread on the musty bedspread for a moment, gathering what little courage he possessed. "He made me a vampire… lied to me, kept me locked up in the basement of that compound and starved me until I agreed to be bound to him."

"That kind of thing can be forced? I thought vampires were all about things given freely."

"Oh, they are. We are. But there are always loopholes- I was so hungry, I'd have consented to anything he asked. It uh, it didn't take very long for me to agree."

"And you suffered no ill-effects at his death?"

Barry sighed. "I never wanted the bond in the first place, and by the time I could stop and think, I wasn't sure if I was just too far away from him to feel it or if you'd succeeded in stopping him." He stopped for a moment, considered what he wanted to say next. He was already a sinner- might as well stack another one on his tower of shame. "Thank you, for that. Eobard was… he was a monster."

"You're all monsters," Oliver replied dismissively.  His words stung, but Barry didn't entirely disagree. "Have there been instances of human and vampires agreeing to these 'marriage bonds' before." And right back to the militaristic demands- familiar ground, at least.

"I think so?" Barry chewed his lower lip as he considered. "Yeah, yes there were. Both parties consented, though. The stories- accounts- I've read were all very romantic, though. There are, well, there are better oaths for the kind of agreement you're looking for."

"Really? Specific loyalty oaths for working for humans?"

"Working _with_ humans, yes," Barry corrected testily. "You're kind of a dick, aren't you."

"I'm from an old, prestigious line of vampire hunters. A vampire killed my parents and encouraged my life-long mentor to betray me. I have good reason to be 'a dick'."

"Eobard..? Oh, no. Oh, Oliver, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Barry slid off the bed, his movements carefully telegraphed. He reached out and took Oliver's flesh and blood hand in both of his, casting a wary eye at the stake gripped in his prosthetic. The Hunter let him, eyes sharp as he watched Barry hold the hand against his cheek. "May they rest in peace, alongside God in the kingdom of heaven."

"He killed someone close to you, didn't he," Oliver observed, tugging his hand free and having the decency not to make a face or wipe it on the sheets. Barry hadn't wanted to unload on the Hunter, but it seemed only fair, now. Vampire and human conventions said you didn't keep things from your spouse (Barry suppressed a mad giggle- _married to a Hunter_!)

"My parents," he sighed. "I didn't know- I was out with friends and when I came back… I was attacked and- and knocked out? I passed out. And when I woke up, Eobard was there- I was in his house and he told me… he said he couldn't save my parents, but that he'd gotten to me in time." He sat back on his heels, digging his palms into his eyes. " _I didn't know_. For years and years, I just… How could I know? And the bond-! He either didn't think I'd find out or he didn't care!"

"Do you share thoughts through this bond? Emotions- do vampires feel things other than hatred and hunger?"

"Ouch. I feel like your dickishness might just be who you are as a person." Oliver gave him a hard look, expression flat but promising hurt at the same time. "Of _course_ we feel emotions! We're- a lot of us- just like humans-"

"With several minor differences, right?"

Barry laughed at both the joke and the surprise on Oliver's face when he'd said it. He covered his mouth to stifle the sound out of habit- Eobard didn't like laughter unless it was at the expense of someone else. "Yeah, something like that." Barry grinned, throwing Oliver's earlier words back at him.

"So. Do thoughts pass between the bond? Can you feel anything else through it?"

The interrogation was progressing slowly into an actual Q and A session, the demands becoming questions more often. Barry smiled and pulled himself back onto the bed. "Some, yeah. Thoughts, that is. I'm still pretty new, so it was easy for him to hide most things from me. He heard everything, though. That's… that's why he locked me up so much."

Oliver was quiet for a few moments. Barry glanced up when he didn't hear the pen scratching against the notebook and locked eyes with the Hunter. His expression was inscrutable and Barry vowed to start observing people more often, whenever he could- he was so bad at reading others!

"Don't lie to me- I need full disclosure from you, since we'll be working together indefinitely. How many humans have you killed?"

"None," Barry replied immediately, honestly. "I've never even touched another person in anger! Eobard always…" Barry took a deep breath, steadied himself, and gripped the sheets for some kind of support. "He brought people to me. Unconscious, drugged. I got to feed a little and then he- he finished them off. I couldn't stop him- I did try! A few times. But he was so much stronger! I prayed every morning for them, for forgiveness for my weakness. But I couldn't stop him."

"You're a religious… man, Mister Allen," Oliver stated. He paused on "man" and Barry's mouth twisted indignantly until Oliver added, "How old are you, were you, before Thawne got to you."

"Oh, uh, lemme think. It was… and I just had a birthday, so… 25? Maybe 26. Time seems to move differently when you're, uh, active at night."

"So you're at least 30 in human years. Is it the blood that makes you look like a teenager?"

"Oh geez," Barry choked on his laughter, covering his face with both hands. "No, not for me, anyway. I'm just cursed- not for real, or anything like that- with perpetual baby face. Got carded every time when I went out with my friends!"

Oliver made a quiet sound and Barry dropped his hands, concerned. But the Hunter's expression was as devoid of emotion as it had been for most of their talk. He watched Oliver take more notes, scribbling quickly and only pausing a second or two before continuing. His eyes lingered briefly on the prosthetic and he wondered how long Oliver had hunted with it- he must be very skilled to use a bow and arrow with just one hand! And he'd been working with that particular weapon for a while, if his arms were any indication- Barry studied the muscle apparent but not bulging there, the veins along his forearms and the strong definition of his ash-coated skin. Even when he'd been human, Barry had a thing for arms and shoulders.

He shook his head and hopefully banished such thoughts- Oliver was a Hunter, a killer of vampires. He'd almost killed Barry only a few hours ago! Despite the predicament he'd gotten them into, his relationship with Oliver was strictly a working one. And he was just fine with that- nice arms and a handsome face didn't make up for the countless lives the Hunter in front of him had taken. _Though I'm little different_ , Barry thought ruefully. Just because he hadn't delivered the killing bite, didn't make him any less complicit in the deaths of the people Eobard fed him with.

"Are there any accounts of humans and vampires sharing anything through their bonds?"

Barry startled at the question, looking up, guilty, from his continued, traitorous study of Oliver's arms. If the Hunter noticed, figured out what he had been doing or looking at, his face didn't show it. Barry would have to ask him how he schooled his features so well.

"It's not as strong as vampire to vampire," Barry started hesitantly; it had been a while since he'd read any vampire history. "But it happens. If the human focuses and the vampire sends thoughts and emotions directly. And if the human is in danger or, uhm, experiencing strong emotion, the vampire will feel it."

"So it can be built up, strengthened?"

"If you're into that sort of thing, sure." Barry snickered at the annoyed glare Oliver gave him, pleased to have gotten a reaction that wasn't even borderline homicidal.

"Good to know I've attached myself to an immortal asshole," Oliver said, one corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

"What a pair we make: the dick and the asshole. Oh, Lord." Barry felt his face, neck and chest heat up with his blush and grabbed a pillow to smother himself, falling backwards on the bed. He wanted to blame it on the bond, but from what he'd experienced and what little he'd read, things like that never happened so fast, not even between and among willing vampires. Barry was either genuinely attracted to his would-be killer-turned-savior or… Nope, that was it. Damn him for both having a type and for not getting out and dating more before, when he was human. He was damned for a lot of things, at that point.

"You sure you got your age right?" Oliver asked when Barry sat up again. That tiny, ghost of a smile had grown into a smirk.

"My wallet's in Eobard's compound and you can run a background check on me, so yeah."

He regretted mentioning his Maker as he watched Oliver's face fall back into its Hunter mask- even at Barry's expense, Oliver had a really nice smile.

"I'm sorry," Barry said. He had a feeling he'd be saying it a lot. "You- you've done a good thing, killing Eobard. When he was away, when I was locked in the basement, I used to pray for God to stop him. I thought, he was evil, and maybe I was evil by Eobard's design, and it couldn't be so wrong to want an evil thing to be destroyed…"

"I'm not so sure you're evil, Allen."

"I am," Barry assured him. "But I pray every morning for absolution. And now that I'm free, free-er, I can do good in the world, to make up for the past five years."

"Evil people, vampires, don't regret their actions," Oliver said. "And the fact that you want to make up for things that didn't seem to be entirely in your power to prevent speaks more to the good in you than the bad."

The rest of Oliver's questions were about the bond, vampire behaviour (which Barry apologized for not being able to help much with), and any of Eobard's known associates. Barry happily gave up the names of people he knew and had witnessed that were just as bad as- some, he suspected, even worse than- his Maker. He didn't mention anyone he'd seen arguing with or outright going against Eobard, though; those vampires (and other beings, he suspected) were most likely as good as their kind could be and should therefore be spared any attention from Hunters.

Oliver revealed that they were close in age, at least for the moment. They made fun of each other's names, Barry taking the brunt of the ridicule and not arguing too vehemently against it. "You don't have to keep calling me 'Allen', y'know," he insisted, smirking. "We _are_ married now. I'm just 'Barry'."

"I don't suppose it's too late to upgrade to the honeymoon suite," Oliver mused, grinning. Barry was going to need another blood bag, if he kept blushing so violently.

He asked about the state of the nation, the world, television and movies. He found out that Oliver had read comic books when he was younger, the same as Barry continued to do through college, but that hunting tended to take up most of his time. Sometime around 3 in the morning, they were laying down on their respective beds, lit only by the sporadically flickering light in the bathroom. Barry was propped on his side, head held in one hand and the other tracing patterns in the condensation Oliver's can of soda left on the nightstand between them. Oliver lay three-quarters on his back, had removed and was adjusting his prosthetic.

"Part of the job?" Barry asked before he could think better of it. Oliver raised questioning brows, then followed Barry's eyes to the cuff resting on his stomach.

"Parting gift," Oliver replied quietly, just audible above the rattling air conditioner. "From my mentor; one last lesson."

"I didn't know- I'm sorry, Oliver."

"No, you didn't know. You apologize too much for things you don't need to. But since we're on sensitive subjects," Oliver paused and slipped the prosthetic back on. "Why did Thawne want to marry you, force that bond?"

Barry grimaced, but answered before Oliver could let him off the hook, "It's the strongest bond between vampires. He- he wanted as much control over me as possible. And, no, before you ask, it wasn't like… a sex thing. We uhm, we were never- we didn't sleep together. It was all about power with him. Control."

The only sounds for several minutes were the death throes of the AC and muted traffic on the road beyond the motel room. Oliver finally said, "I don't want to control you."

"But you're okay with using me for information," Barry pointed out, his tone not unkind. Oliver didn't owe him anything, didn't have to spare or save his life, yet he did. And he hadn't been cruel during their time together so far; things were even starting to become friendly between them. Barry knew he tended to trust easily- one of the reasons he'd been snared by Eobard- but he felt different about Oliver than he did anyone he'd met since Eobard had re-Made him. There were little things about Oliver that reminded Barry of home, Central City, so far away now, in terms of distance and time; his father's kind eyes, Joe West's stern but friendly demeanor… Iris's sense of humor.

"Once you've told me everything you know," Oliver started, pausing with what Barry considered uncharacteristic uncertainty.

"You can't just let me go, Oliver," Barry said gently. "This bond can't just be severed. You're stuck with me until one of us dies."

"But a forced bond, an oath under duress-"

"Neither one of us forced this," Barry insisted. "I panicked, yeah, and you didn't really know what you were getting into, but I'm certainly not unwilling. And the link won't be so strong, since you're human. And I won't pry into your thoughts or anything. Just… I don't want to live in your basement."

"Barry," Oliver said his name so softly that first time. "I wouldn't-"

"I'll sleep there, I don't- that won't be so bad. But I'd like to go out at night- I won't kill anyone! I can- the blood bags are great, I _prefer_ those! But I want to see the world again."

"I won't lock you up, Barry." Oliver sounded so earnest, so sincere. "But you're right- I can't in good conscience just let you go. But I won't make you a prisoner, either. We'll… figure something out. I'm the head of the Queen clan, now. I'll figure something out…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to anyone who was hoping for Oliver's direct reaction to the marriage. But fear not- all kinds of things will be covered in future chapters!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver tries to figure out what he's gotten himself into while Barry gets some beauty sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some special guests arrive this chapter that I will tag in the next one- it's a surprise!

Compassion wasn't something Oliver was too familiar with. He'd never had opportunity to express or experience it, either while he was training, before becoming a Hunter or afterwards. But it wasn't a foreign concept- Thea was of a mind that it was a natural part of human nature. And spending those first hours with Allen- with Barry- listening to him talk about all the things he'd missed while abducted by Thawne, and seeing the wonder and excitement in his eyes at even the smallest changes in the world, Oliver was tempted to believe that this vampire, at least, had retained the best of his humanity. He wanted to believe that Barry had never killed, but despite the vampire's assurances, it was in that creature's nature to hunt and kill for survival. No other animal's blood could keep a vampire alive.

But Barry expressed a distaste for murder, for attacking people in general, despite the picture he'd presented when Oliver had first seen him. That was easy to excuse and dismiss, as well- Barry had been starving, half-feral with his thirst and barely thinking at all. Oliver had every intention of never letting Barry experience that again. He'd become strangely protective of the young vampire in the few hours he'd gotten to know him. And once he'd realized that, in the brief, calm moments before dawn, he asked if Barry had any experience in hypnotizing or mesmerizing people, concerned that his thoughts weren't his own.

"Even if that were one of my talents, I wouldn't be able to use it, be any good at it, for another 20 years or so. It's an older, well-fed vampire trait. Eobard was pretty good at it, when he needed it."

The records of vampire abilities that he'd read matched up to what Barry said, give or take a few years, so Oliver allowed himself to relax regarding that aspect. He couldn't fully let his guard down, though, not with so many years of training behind him. He doubted he would ever be able to just sit in the same room with Barry without a weapon on or near him. And Barry was likely ill at ease in his presence, as well. Two killers, pulled together by accident and a hasty decision. _If this is what mercy gets me_ , Oliver thought, watching Barry stifle an admittedly cute yawn and squint at the pale blue light beyond the blinds. _Maybe it's not so bad_.

Barry crawled under the bed an hour before first light, the sun's rays still weak on the distant horizon. Oliver started to ask how he'd gotten away from Thawne's nest in the first place, how he'd been traveling and sleeping at all without a box filled with dirt from Central City, but decided he wouldn't get much of an answer that close to sunrise (and maybe he felt like the young vampire was due a break from Oliver's relentless questioning). He stood at the foot of his own bed, glancing between the window and Barry's bed, trying to calculate the angle of the sun in relation to them. He hesitated a few times before he removed the bedspread and sheets from his mattress and piled them on the floor around the base of the bed and the side facing Oliver's, creating a block for any stray sunbeams that might find their way through the old blinds and moth-eaten curtains. It was probably the worst motel he'd ever stayed in.

While Barry slept, Oliver examined his Kit, checking each stake and making a note to replenish his vial of holy water. He sharpened several already deadly knives, restrung his bow and read over his notes while the information was still fresh in his mind. He turned the television on around noon, the volume down nearly to Mute so he could hear if Barry grew restless or, perhaps, had any nightmares. His life as a vampire had many eerie parallels with Oliver's and as the day wore on and he finally performed that background check, his sympathy for the young vampire grew. It occurred to him that it was the bond between them that was making him feel that way, but he doubted such a thing worked so quickly on humans. _How different will it be for Barry, though_ , Oliver wondered. He insisted vampires felt emotions the same as humans- would Barry like him more when he woke up that night? Would he, some day, eventually… fall in love with Oliver? How on earth would they handle _that_!

He still wasn't entirely certain what to think about being married to Barry, or the fact that he'd so readily suggested any kind of partnership with the vampire. He'd spared Barry's life out of pity, originally, and with the notion in mind that he could use the kid ( _man- we're the same age_ ) to track down other vampires, more monsters like Thawne. He had been certain Barry was one of those monsters, only a few hours ago. Now he wasn't sure about a lot of things. He'd been told his entire life that vampires were evil, though until Thawne and… Slade, Oliver hadn't hated any of them. And with everything that had happened since his parents' deaths, it was all too apparent that humans were capable of equal or greater such evil.

The texts he'd read had never mentioned vampire bonds being anything more than psychic connections, but that was most likely due to the fact that Hunters didn't think vampires experienced things like love. Oliver chuckled quietly as he re-counted his ammunition- he felt kind of stupid for believing that, himself, after talking with Barry. In many ways, Barry was more human than Oliver- he laughed, reservedly at first, and then more freely as dawn approached. He smiled easily and had started teasing Oliver almost immediately. He was kind, compassionate, and the most gentle… person Oliver had ever met. Barry Allen was shaping up to be the best kind of anomaly.

Pizza was ordered at three, from a place that had to taste better than it looked, and Oliver watched the four o'clock news and thought about calling Thea. He should circle back to Thawne's nest one more time, scour it for any useful documents, pick up Barry's wallet, but he'd wait for the vampire to wake up before making further plans. Sunset was less than twenty minutes away when there was a knock on the door. Oliver was on his feet in seconds, a knife gripped in his prosthetic and a gun in his left hand. He approached the peephole silently, avoiding all the spots beneath the carpet that squeaked or groaned. Braced against the wall, Oliver stretched across the door and peered outside.

A tall, well-dressed man stood on the concrete landing, an inch away from the door. His profile didn't reveal his age, but the smoothness of his face and silver shot through his close-cropped hair placed him anywhere between forty and a healthy sixty. The man turned his head slowly and stared into the peephole with eyes so blue, they seemed to glow in the fading sunlight.

"Can do this the hard way or the easy way, Queen," the man said, his voice smooth and with the hint of a familiar accent.

"What would 'this' be?"

"Let us in," he replied simply, as though Oliver should have known that's what he meant.

"And the hard way?"

"Always the hard way with you Hunters." The stranger chuckled, shaking his head. "The Hard Way, Oliver, is I come through this door and disarm you embarrassingly fast."

Oliver was about to ask how the other man both knew who he was and how he'd been found, but his seconds-long silence was enough of an agreement to the first option. The stranger didn't break the door down like Oliver thought, but merely reached out and… opened it. His long fingers lingered on the knob and the several deadbolts and chains simply fell away. Oliver took two steps back, gun raised, and the stranger was in front of him. In the span of two blinks, Oliver was on the chair in the corner near his bed, the knife and his prosthetic gone, his gun on the television and the handful of other weapons he always kept on his person laid out on the bed Barry was sleeping under. Oliver was tied to the chair with his own shirt, which had somehow been taken off him and ripped in two, strapping his arms to the armrests.

"That _was_ embarrassing, wasn't it."

"Who are you? How do you know who I am- how did you find me?"

The stranger raised his hand, made a fist and pointed his thumb up. "Going by 'Len' these days." He extended his index finger, counting off the answers to Oliver's questions, apparently. "The Queens are the most notorious Hunters in America, probably the world. Haven't been keeping the lowest of profiles recently, have you, Lefty." Len finally extend his middle finger, saying, "And we just made like Toucan Sam and followed his nose."

More questions bubbled up in Oliver's throat, but he had to focus on getting free and reaching the nearest weapon. He wasn't sure he'd fare any better a second time, with how fast Len had taken him down a minute ago. He tested the knot on his right wrist, first, intending to slip the arm free and… figure out how to untie his left with the stump. Oliver grit his teeth in frustration, keeping his attention on the mysterious Len as he moved around the room. He looked human enough, but Oliver knew the door was locked; he'd watched everything open before his eyes, admitting the stranger as though he was welcome.

"Whose nose- someone you're working with?"

"Working _for_ , if you must know. And you'll see soon enough. Sundown's seven minutes away and he's-" Len raised his arm and shook his coat sleeve back in one fluid gesture, consulting his wristwatch. "Five minutes, forty seconds from here. Just sit tight for about 15 and we'll get this sordid little thing figured out."

If Len wasn't the bigger threat, Oliver didn't want to imagine who or what was coming. Given the timing, though, it was most likely a vampire. Even the older ones who could walk in the sun tended to be more active at nightfall. He kept his eyes away from Barry's bed, but he had a feeling Len knew the young vampire was there. Sure enough, Len stood at the foot of the bed nearest the bathroom, glancing thoughtfully at the blankets on the floor of the window-facing sides.

"Cute," he chuckled, nudging the crumpled bedspread with the toe of his shoe.

"You're a Familiar, right," Oliver said rather than asked. They were rare, usually associated with only the oldest vampires, and had powers that had never been clearly recorded or specified.

Len flashed him a smile with too many teeth, his eyes glowing a blue so bright, Oliver had to squint to keep looking at him. "You could say that," he replied.

"I did say that, but am I right? Or are you just some magic-using, vampire fanboy."

"Your family's not famous for their witty banter," Len sighed. He lowered himself onto Oliver's bed and poked at the pizza box there, lifting the corner of it and making a face at the contents. "Body like that and diet like this- which one of us's a magic-user?"

Oliver felt the minutes tick by, watching the sun disappear out of the corner of his eye. He knew time was up because he was counting the seconds as soon as Len gave him a timeframe, but it was confirmed by Barry shifting and yawning loudly under the bed. He made a surprised sound when he encountered the blankets, then practically slithered out the open side. Oliver kept Len in his periphery as he watched Barry stretch, his shirt riding up and showing off a strip of pale skin. He grit his teeth, waiting for Barry to finally face him and see the danger they were both probably in. Len's master was likely an ally of Thawne's, seeking revenge.

Barry raised his head and sniffed. "You like pineapple on your pizza? Gross, I didn't think anyone actually… ate that." He laughed as he moved around the bed, his teasing trailing off when he saw Len perched on the end of Oliver's mattress, one leg crossed over the opposite knee, hands folded on top. "Hi?"

"Hi, Barry."

"…Do I know you?"

"Haven't been properly introduced," a new voice responded from the door. Oliver nearly gave himself whiplash, he turned his head so fast to regard the true threat. He'd faced many vampires over the years, of all shapes, sizes, and genders, but the man taking up most of the doorframe was one of the most intimidating creatures Oliver had ever seen, and he wasn't even wearing his vampire face!

He was as tall as Len, but nearly twice as broad in the chest and shoulders. His head was shaved completely smooth, but he had a dark-haired, neatly trimmed goatee. He was shirtless and his pants looked tailored and expensive, his feet bare and dirty. His most striking feature, though, were his scars- both arms and most of his torso were covered in old burns, third-degree at least. The pattern resembled a lava bed and fingers of it reached up his neck on the right side, curling down and around to disappear into the waist of his pants. He looked around the room, bright eyes passing dispassionately over Oliver, stopping for a moment on Barry and then landing on Len. He grinned and leaned in the doorframe.

"Name's Mick," he finally answered Barry's question. "Saw you at Thawne's place while I was givin' him a piece'a my mind. You okay, kid?"

Barry blinked, looked over at Oliver, then back at Mick. "Yeah, fine. Uhm, you know Eobard's dead?"

"We heard, yeah," Len responded. He was picking pineapple chunks off a slice of pizza.

"Heard him an' his new buddy got it, but nobody knew where you'd run off to. Figured I'd check in, make sure you were doing alright, see if you needed any help." Mick swiveled his head and regarded Oliver again. "Looks pretty cozy in here."

"It's uh, y'see, kind of a funny story," Barry stammered. He sat down on the edge of his bed and looked over at Oliver. "Are _you_ okay?"

"He's just peachy," Len answered dismissively. "We'd like to hear your funny story."

Oliver tuned out most of Barry's retelling, catching a few parts he hadn't been privy to the night before and inwardly smiling at the omission of the interrogation. He kept his eyes on Mick and his hand busy working loose the complicated knot holding his wrist and forearm to the chair. It would be easier to just tear the chair arm off- the seat was old enough- but Len was more than fast enough to knock him down again before he could make any kind of offensive move.

"And then it was pretty much sunrise, so I went under the bed to get some sleep."

"Why not the closet," Len asked, head cocked curiously to one side. Oliver wondered if that was a vampire thing or if Len was mocking Barry, since he'd seen the young vampire make the gesture several times that morning and during his retelling of events. But Len wasn't a vampire; Oliver still wasn't sure what he was, though Familiar was at the top of the list.

"The doors don't close all the way," Barry replied with a shrug. "Figured it'd be too much trouble to put the sheets up to cover it. And uh, looks like Oliver had my back, anyway." He looked past Len at Oliver, giving him a shy smile. "Thanks."

"Aww," Mick cooed, still perched in the doorway. Oliver certainly wasn't going to invite him in. "You think he's sweet on you, kid?"

"What, Oliver? No! No way." Barry laughed, tipping backwards on the bed. "No, he's just looking out for me until I tell- I mean…"

Oliver successfully held back a groan, but Barry had already pretty much outted himself and his reason for being there.

"You a narc, Barry?" Mick demanded, though there was humor in his voice.

"Me? No!" Barry replied as he sat up again, forcing laughter and sounding exactly like a narc. "What would I have to tell him?"

"Any- and everything about Thawne, for one," Len drawled. And listening to him and Barry speak so closely together clicked the accent for Oliver- they were both from Central City. Though there was no telling how long it had been since Len was born there, if Familiars were born.

"Even if he told me anything that he was doing at any given time," Barry started, voice bitter. "What harm would it do now? He's dead and gone- he doesn't matter anymore."

Len dropped the slice of pizza he'd taken a few bites of on top of the box and wiped his hands on the mattress. He stood and straightened his jacket, brushing off the front of his slacks. Barry and Oliver both kept their eyes on him as he moved to stand over Barry. Oliver snorted in frustration as that strange concern bubbled up when the young vampire was obscured.

"He doesn't matter, you're right about that," Len finally said. "But you're his only heir, and he was stirring up a lot of shit before your pal Lefty came along. We're here to take you back, sort things out."

"Gonna have to take you both," Mick added. "Accident or not, a bond's a bond an' I'm not gonna risk hurtin' the kid just 'cause this one's a Hunter."

"I'm not going anywhere with you assholes," Oliver snarled. Len flashed him that shark-toothed smile again and Mick just chuckled.

"I don't think we have much choice, Oliver."

"You don't got any choice," Mick said. "Grab your cooler, kid, and Lenny'll take your hubby. Got a car waiting the next lot over. Leaving in ten minutes."

Oliver put up enough of a fight for both he and Barry, mainly in an attempt to not be abducted by what could only be an insanely powerful vampire and his Familiar, and also because Barry wasn't fighting at all. He glared at Barry where the vampire slumped on the other side of Len, the cooler of blood tucked under one arm and Oliver's Kit and duffle bag of weapons in the other. Barry had insisted on gathering up all of Oliver's things to take with them, citing that they didn't want anyone finding out about Hunters and connecting the dots to vampires. Len seemed to think that was highly unlikely, "Anyone finds this junk will just assume he's a crackpot Van Helsing wannabe". But Barry didn't want to take any chances.

"You'd be surprised what educated people will believe in," Barry said as he loaded their things in the back of a sleek, black Humvee.

"No I wouldn't," Len countered. Oliver got the impression that he just liked to argue for the sake of arguing.

Barry climbed into the first row of back seats and Len practically threw Oliver in the other side. The door was slammed and locked before Oliver could untangle himself from Barry and try the handle. When he looked up front, Len was already buckled into the passenger seat, with Mick buckled in the driver's.

"Seat belts," Len admonished when neither Oliver nor Barry moved to use them. Barry was stretching his across his lap when he glanced up at Oliver, who remained against the door, arms crossed indignantly.

"Buckle yourself or I'll do it for you." Len called.

"C'mon, Oliver," Barry sighed. "Let's just get this over with."

"How do you know they're not going to kill you when they get you back to Central?" Oliver demanded.

"We can kill you both just fine here," Len reminded them cheerfully. "Perfectly good vampire-killing kit in the back, if we wanted to take care of young Barry. And you're just another meal for Mick, Ollie."

"They didn't like Eobard," Barry said, leaning across the spacious seat to whisper loudly to Oliver. He was fighting a smile and Oliver suspected it was because of the too-intimate nickname Len had called him. "I remember Mick fighting with him, once. We'll just… sort out whatever needs sorting of Eobard's house and then, I dunno… go back to your place?"

"You should have your honeymoon somewhere special," Mick teased. "Iceland's nice this time of year. Or Alaska- who doesn't love a whole month of night!"

"If they wanted us dead, we'd be dead." Barry said simply. He sat back, undid his seat belt and in three seconds, buckled Oliver in and then re-buckled himself. "Okay. We're ready."

Oliver kept further commentary and arguments to himself. They were a full row of seats away from where his weapons were being kept, so he couldn't sneak back and grab anything while they were moving. Len had proven he could move faster than Oliver and possibly Barry could even conceive, so a knife or stake would do him little good. He also wasn't sure any of his weapons could hurt a Familiar. If he could get to Mick, he was confident he could kill the vampire, but he'd have to get through Len, first.

They were at least a 24 hour's drive away, non-stop, from Missouri, but Oliver suspected there would be a plane waiting at the nearest airport. He was partially right. Mick took them to a private airstrip and Len dragged him onto a small, commuter plane. Barry exited the vehicle and entered the plane of his own, sheepish volition. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed about not fighting. Though maybe he was being the smarter of them- he'd seen Mick before, so he likely had an idea what the big vampire could do. Being so young himself, Barry would stand only a slightly better chance against either Mick or Len and no chance at all versus them together. Oliver glared daggers at Len as the Familiar strapped him into his seat with bungee cords over the seat belt before disappearing into the cockpit. Barry sat opposite him and sucked nervously on one of his remaining blood bags.

"I haven't been on a plane since, well," Barry gestured with the half-empty bag. "I guess it'll be okay? They wouldn't take me, take us, this way if it weren't."

"How _have_ you been travelling?" Oliver finally asked.

Barry shrugged as he slipped a hand down his pants, lifting his hips in a fluid, distracting movement before pulling his hand free, holding a small, black pouch in his palm. "I put some dirt from my stash in here and it's worked out pretty well so far. Turns out, you don't need like, a whole crate of the stuff to move around."

"That's pretty smart," Oliver admitted. He didn't fight his own small smile in answer to Barry's proud grin.

The flight took five hours, stopping once in Denver to refuel. Oliver had worked loose two of the three bungee cords, but Len had just "tsked" at him and reattached them, adding an extra because he was an asshole. The sun was just lighting up the horizon as they touched down on the tarmac in Missouri. Oliver managed to get all the cords off by then and unbuckled his seat belt to sit beside Barry. The vampire was visibly shaking and a clammy sweat had broken out on his face. His eyes darted between the windows and out at their ever-brightening surroundings. There was no way Mick and Len had brought them halfway across the country only to let Barry burn in an airplane.

"Well don't you have clever fingers," Len chuckled, suddenly across from Barry and one seat over from where Oliver had been. "Don't worry, kid- these windows are UV-treated. No tanning for you today. Once we get to the hangar, you can take a nap and we'll make Thawne's place just after sundown tonight."

"Don't think I'm just going to stay here all day," Oliver spoke up. Len appraised him with obvious mirth, his glowing eyes scrunched up with the emotion.

"Practically dead on your feet there, Lefty," Len observed. "You'll get a nice couple hours' sleep, too." He leaned forward, the light in his eyes flaring ominously as he added, "Whether you want 'em or not."

His vision blurred and then whited-out at the edges and he heard Barry cry out, alarmed, but Oliver couldn't do anything but tip sideways into the young vampire. The last thing he heard, eyes closed against his will, was Barry demanding that no one hurt Oliver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta didn't get the [Toucan Sam](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toucan_Sam) reference and I waffled all week on whether or not I should keep it in the story. But I liked it too much, it made me laugh every time I read it over, so it stayed. [Here also is a video of an old commercial,](https://youtu.be/CYbnP2hGAwY%22) for the sake of being thorough. :)
> 
> Give yourself a hearty pat on the back if you saw those dopes coming. I couldn't resist putting my favourite criminals in this AU.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry returns to Central City and the place of his worst nightmares (if vampires had nightmares, anyway). Oliver finds himself in a position of unexpected support.

Barry checked Oliver's pulse and heartbeat five times on the way through the hangar, despite his own drooping eyelids and heavy limbs. He was still far too young to successfully fight the lethargy that overtook him when the sun was up. Mick had come out of the cockpit and picked Oliver up in a bridal carry like he weighed nothing at all, walking him out of the plane and further into the clean, spacious, dark building they'd parked in. The only lights were LED fluorescent tubes, set high and several feet apart in the ceiling and giving off a warm glow. As well-fed as he finally was and given Mick's age, neither of them needed the light at all to navigate the space. Barry tore his eyes away from Oliver for a second to look at Len, keeping pace with them easily, hands in his pockets. If he wasn't a Familiar, he was something even more powerful, to do all the things Barry had witnessed him doing.

"Bag trick's pretty clever, kid," Mick told him once they'd arrived at the far end of the expansive building. "But I had more of your bed brought up, get you a better day's sleep 'fore I take you back to Thawne's."

They stopped at a rather cozy-looking corner- rugs were spread haphazardly on the concrete and a day bed was set up and covered at least two inches deep with earth Barry instantly recognized as his. He heaved a full-body, relieved sigh and was half-laying down before he remembered Oliver. Mick laid the Hunter out on another, dirt-free bed a few feet away.

"He'll be fine," Len huffed, rolling his eyes from the foot of Barry's temporary bed. "Could use the beauty sleep. We'll be back at sundown."

Barry watched Mick leave- Len simply blinked out of sight, and that was fairly disturbing- then turned his heavy-lidded eyes to Oliver. He wanted to check on him one more time, feel his pulse beneath his fingers, but he was so tired. With another sigh as he curled up on the sweet-smelling earth, he extended his senses across the spider silk-thin strand of the bond connecting them. It was still too early (and Barry likely way too young) to hear his thoughts, but he felt Oliver's steady, strong heartbeat not a moment later. Barry smiled and gave himself over to dreamless sleep.

-

"-going to the bathroom with anyone watching me, you creep!" Oliver was shouting. Barry groaned and blinked sleep and dirt out of his eyes, sitting up with a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Barry can watch you," Len's gleeful voice responded. "You boys could use the time together. Don't be bashful, kid- c'mon and help your husband with his toiletries."

He slid out of bed, pausing to brush the excess dirt from his shirt, and padded over to where he first felt and then saw Oliver. And Len. In the opposite corner of the hanger, behind a partition that Barry hadn't noticed that morning, a surprisingly nice bathroom had been set up, complete with large sink, claw foot tub and a shower stall. Oliver was standing ramrod straight in front of the toilet, Len on his right and grinning at Barry behind Oliver's back. Barry was about to ask why Oliver would need help when he noticed the Hunter had been tied up again. The ropes were a sturdy nylon blend and arranged in a rather intricate pattern across Oliver's chest and back; his arms were behind him, left hand gripping and tied just below the elbow of the right. Only Oliver's legs were free. Barry sighed.

"Why did you tie him up?"

"So he didn't go wandering off while we were busy. Do you like it- green really is his color."

Barry didn't want to agree with Len, what with the way Oliver was glaring murder at the Familiar, but the green did look nice over his naked torso, his arm muscles pleasantly bunched and stomach taught…

"He likes it," Len whispered loudly to Oliver.

"I am going to take great joy in killing you someday."

"Save the dirty talk for the honeymoon, Ollie." Len slapped his ass and walked around him, easily avoiding Oliver's leg sweep. He stopped in front of Barry, reaching up to brush more dirt off his shoulder. "Twenty minutes and we're heading to Thawne's. Don't get too handsy in here- we'll be waiting!"

Barry watched him walk away, disappearing in the shadows between light bulbs until he was simply gone again. He suppressed a shudder and turned back to Oliver. "I'm-"

"If you say you're sorry," Oliver groaned. "I'll stake you the first chance I get. Get me out of this so I can shower- you take the tub."

"…Don't you want to… y'know. Try to escape?"

"They found us easy enough the first time," Oliver sighed. "Now they have both our scents and I'm almost certain Len's a Familiar. We wouldn't get far."

Barry nodded his agreement, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Oliver cleared his throat loudly and Barry stared at him, confused. "We're down to seventeen minutes," Oliver said through his tightly clenched teeth. "Now get this mess off of me."

"You didn't say the magic word. Ollie."

"Barry," Oliver snarled. "This is _your_ fault. The least you can do is work with me right now."

"With," Barry repeated, looking over the intricate rope work. "We're a team, especially now. You gotta stop giving me orders like that."

Oliver dropped his head onto his chest as Barry worked, figuring out the pattern and untying him a minute later. "Thanks," he said as he threw the ropes on the ground, though the word was far gentler than his movement.

"You're welcome," Barry replied pleasantly.

Oliver used the toilet, while Barry waited out of sight, back by his bed. They bathed and showered in silence, Barry focusing on using his enhanced speed to get clean as quickly as possible (and make sure he didn’t sneak peeks at Oliver getting in and out of the shower). He'd decided on the plane ride back home that it would be stupid to deny his attraction to the Hunter, though whether Oliver would or could ever feel the same was a question he wasn't ready to ask just yet. He hoped they'd at least become friends, had seemed to be on that path before Mick and Len appeared at the motel. _I'll just finish up whatever Eobard was doing- or put a stop to it- and we can go wherever Oliver wants. Start over. …Maybe even see Joe and Iris before I leave._

He shouldn't have been surprised that there were changes of clothes waiting for them, or that the pants, shirts and underwear (and the shoes for Oliver) were exactly their sizes. Barry dressed as quickly as he'd bathed and tucked his little bag of earth into his new pants. He ran nervous hands through his hair and wished he still had the styling paste he'd used when… when he was human. Barry's attire was a little nicer than he was used to: a grey t-shirt, button-up in a deep crimson, with a pair of inky black jeans. Oliver had been given a similar outfit, but with the shirts in shades of green, and dark blue cargo pants. Barry thought all the pockets were a nice touch- Oliver would probably craft (or had already crafted) several makeshift weapons to keep in them. Mick and Len likely thought as much and would no doubt search him before they left for Eobard's.

Barry's nerves only got worse when Len returned and led them out of the hangar by a different door, smaller and set closer to where they'd slept. Another black Humvee was waiting, Mick in the driver's seat. Oliver wasn't searched and he climbed in without a fuss; Barry sent him a grateful smile as he buckled himself in. The drive from the airport- another private location- was quiet and uneventful. The outskirts of Eobard's compound came into view and Barry didn't realize he was shaking until he felt Oliver's hand on top of his. The Hunter's expression was reassuring, confident, and he even gave Barry's hand a squeeze. Barry turned his palm up and linked his fingers with Oliver's, keeping his eyes on the headrest of Mick's seat before him. Eobard was dead. Mick and Len hadn't like Eobard and if they were going to do anything to Barry, they'd have done it already. Everything was going to be okay. Somehow.

Oliver slipped his hand free as soon as the vehicle stopped, but the knowing look Len gave them both made Barry suspect he'd seen the contact before it was broken. Barry didn't care- from what he remembered about Familiars, they were restricted by the bidding of their masters, old and ancient vampires who either caught them or bargained a term of service from them. The texts were contradictory on the topic and Barry was still a little too intimidated by Len to ask him. He could talk to Mick later, though- Mick seemed nice enough.

Eobard's compound consisted of four buildings, hundred-year-old warehouses of varying sizes, renovated within the past 50 years. There were the primary living quarters, a weapons cache, the library and the garage. Barry had only ever seen the inside of the library, since it was the only building equipped with a basement, and he breathed a loud sigh of relief when they passed it. Mick and Len stopped in front of the entrance to the primary quarters, a set of rolling steel doors with a high tech-looking keypad and scanning device to one side. Barry had been in such a hurry to escape when he'd heard there was a Hunter on the premises that he hadn't spared even a second to look around at his prison of five years.

"So what's the pressing issue that you two couldn't deal with on your own," Oliver demanded.

"I like this kid," Mick chuckled, elbowing Len in the chest and getting a lopsided smirk in response. Mick turned to face Oliver and Barry, glancing between them before settling his eyes on Barry. "We're pretty tough, me an' Len, but Thawne's got all kinds of security and failsafes set up here. Fancy, top-of-the-line magic shit that even a Familiar can't get through. All kinds of complicated rules-"

"It would take me longer than we have time for, he means," Len interjected, dangerously close to pouting.

"Yeah, we'd get in eventually," Mick agreed, giving Len a slap on the back. "Lenny's the best, but I don't have that kinda time. Only people allowed in this place without an invite are Thawne and his kin. I went to Eddie, first, and he wants nothing to do with his great uncle, so it falls to you."

Barry looked between the faces staring at him expectantly, then he turned to look at Oliver, who was frowning at the keypad. "Why do you need to get in so badly. By your own admission, this isn't your territory."

"It sure ain't Thawne's anymore," Mick said with a nasty laugh. "An' I want in so I can take it over, add it to my turf."

"I never heard everything," Barry said, keeping his voice low, irrationally expecting Eobard to appear and reprimand him for getting outside. "But he was planning take-overs of his own. Wars with other vampire groups and- I'm really not sure, but it sounded like he was going to attack some human places, too."

"Thawne was a security risk to Mick and his people," Len explained, taking unexpected pity on Barry (or maybe lacking the patience to wait for him to continue). "He was willing to risk exposing vampires and others in his grab for power. Barry was the first step in a decades-long coup."

"How do you know this?" Oliver had moved to stand closer to Barry, his hand limp at his side, but close to one of his pockets.

"He offered Mick a spot on his crew. Real low on the ladder, an insult to his status," Len replied airily. Mick rolled his eyes but didn't disagree with any of it.

"What're you going to do, if I let you in? What happens to all of this?" Barry was practically flush against Oliver, his hand grasping at empty air and fingers occasionally grazing Oliver's stump.

"You take what you want," Len said. "What you're entitled to as the only heir, and we take what we want-"

"And burn the rest," Mick finished, a manic gleam in his eyes. "I don't need all these buildings and there ain't much Thawne had that interested me."

"That's it?" Oliver stared at the vampire and his Familiar incredulously. "You just need someone to let you in so you can ransack the place?"

Mick and Len exchanged a glance, then both nodded. "Yeah," Len replied.

"Christ," Oliver muttered, running his hand through his hair and down his face. He looked sideways at Barry and sighed, "Just let them in and get this over with."

"You didn't want any part of the war?" Barry asked Mick.

"Risks were too big and the rewards too small," Len answered. Mick grinned his agreement.

"…I just want some books out of the- the library. And my stuff- what I had on me when Eobard... You can have whatever else you want. As long as…" Barry took a deep breath and stepped into Mick's space, surprised to find they were the same height. Len didn't so much as twitch closer, clearly recognizing Barry as the non-threat he was and would always be.

"As long as you swear to me that you'll do your best not to cause harm to innocent humans."

"Define 'innocent'," Len demanded snidely. Mick waved a hand at him and Len rolled his eyes, but moved away, towards the doors.

"And that you won't hurt Oliver or come after me."

"That's a pretty big request, kid."

"This is a pretty big compound, Mick. And don't think I don't know about the leyline."

Mick stared him down for several long seconds, maybe a minute, maybe more- Barry wasn't certain. He held the older vampire's gaze and stood his ground with squared shoulders and chin jutted forward. Finally, Mick let out a bark of a laugh and clapped him on the shoulder, giving him a hearty shake.

"You got yourself a deal." He grabbed up one of Barry's hands and held him by the wrist, Barry mirroring the gesture. "I, Michael Rory, and my Familiar, Leonard Snart, swear to do our best not to hurt innocent humans in our pursuits of land-grabbing." Len grumbled something that sounded like assent, his hand snaking up to rest on Mick's shoulder. "And we won't be hunting you or your new hubby down, after."

"I, Bartholomew Henry Allen, heir to Thawne territory, accept your word and hold you to it, for as long as you and your Familiar live."

Barry wasn't expecting any kind of sign or outward acknowledgment of the oath, but he wouldn't have been surprised by a clap of thunder or flash of lightning from the star-peppered sky. Mick released his wrist and Barry stepped around him, approaching the entrance. He took a deep, steadying breath and studied the keypad. He'd been outside his first night as a vampire, Eobard taking him around the compound and showing him what was off-limits (i.e. everything). He'd hidden the keypad from view as he punched the code in, but Barry had heard the numbers, memorized the sound each key had made. He just had to hope the code was the same now as it had been five years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been inspired by so many sources for this story! A few of them were first written in another vampire fic that I started back in January... and have yet to share, publicly.   
> But a big inspiration for Len and Mick's switched up dynamic here is [nirejseki's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki) [Fire and Ice AU](https://archiveofourown.org/series/453958). Also, the rules of vampire bonds and oaths were loosely inspired by [The Firebird](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8176649/chapters/18733511), another great fic by the same author.
> 
> You can read about leylines [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ley_line) and [here](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/LeyLine). :)
> 
> Thanks for reading- we still have a ways to go!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry and Oliver act out a scene from _Fahrenheit 451_ and then steal a really nice car. It's for therapy, so it's okay.

Barry stood in front of the double doors to the main building and fidgeted. It had been Eobard's living quarters and Barry had thought about it often when he was a prisoner in the compound; was it nicely furnished inside? Did his Maker surround himself with evidence of his wealth and live in luxury, or was he more frugal with his fortune? He supposed he could go inside and find out, before Mick raided and trashed the place, but after everything he'd been through and now finally being free, he discovered that it didn't matter. Eobard didn't- shouldn't- matter anymore. Still, Barry's hand hovered over the buttons, fingers shaking, until he felt Oliver come up behind him.

"This whole thing still feels like a bad idea," Oliver said in his ear, his breath pleasantly hot. "Everything but the oath, anyway- that was brilliant."

Barry grinned, going a little light-headed from yet another blush. His hand steadied and he entered four numbers in quick succession, the little electronic tone sounding identical to what he'd heard that first time. The scanner flashed green and a loud "click" echoed across the compound, followed by a cacophony of multiple locks disengaging. The doors slid open with a pained, metallic groan and interior lights snapped on one by one, leading down a long hallway. Barry stood frozen, blinking stupidly for what felt like a long time.

"You could've punched in the same number, four times," Len purred as he slipped past Barry and Oliver and strolled inside. "It's a magic lock and just needed you, specifically, to touch it uncoerced."

"I think I hate him," Barry muttered, dazed. Oliver laughed, the sound brief, but loud and genuine. Barry spun around to look at him, to see what any kind of happiness looked like on his face. He wasn't the least bit disappointed.

Mick had to wait for Barry to invite him back inside, since his previous one had been from Eobard. Barry didn't consider making him wait longer or even ask for it- he said the words and gestured grandly for Mick to enter.

"Is it a good idea to let them go first?" Oliver asked.

Barry shook his head. "Probably not? I just- let's just get my things and some books and get out of here."

Barry took Oliver's hand without thinking, leading him away from the primary building and back towards the library. The warm weight of his palm and hesitant curl of his fingers gave Barry the courage to tap in another code- his own birthday, since Len said any numbers would work- and step into the prison from which he'd escaped only months before. The library was half the size of Eobard's quarters, but held more than twice the number of valuables. The same row of lights lit up a similar hallway, and instead of walls and rooms on either side, there were rows and rows of books; twelve-foot tall units, every shelf crowded with knowledge (and a surprising amount of smut). A few beaten, old desks were spread throughout, with mismatched chairs tucked under them. Barry knew where all the books he wanted were located and pulled Oliver behind him as he rushed to collect them.

"This place is huge," Oliver's voice was hushed. Barry paused and looked over his shoulder. He wanted to move quickly, escape again before Eobard found a way to trap him forever, from beyond the grave, but the sheer awe in Oliver's expression kept Barry in place. His eyes were wide and he looked at the stacks in a way that reminded Barry of the Christmases of his youth. There was a hunger in his gaze, as well, a yearning for the centuries of knowledge on display there. But there was no way they could get even a fraction of the books out before Mick decided to torch the place, and Barry felt his chest constrict at the thought of so much lost information, despite who it had belonged to.

"Why didn't you just hand ownership of everything over to Mick with that oath?"

"Vampire territories don't work like that," Barry replied, gently tugging Oliver forward again. He stopped briefly to grab a couple volumes off of shelves as they passed. "It was the only thing Eobard told me to learn about. Now that Mick has an invite, and as long as I don't come back while these buildings are still standing, he pretty much has free reign."

"But it's still yours now," Oliver pointed out. "So Mick can come and go as he pleases, but if you stayed-"

"I'm not staying here." Barry was adamant. He swallowed back as much of his fear as he could and fixed his gaze on a spot just beyond Oliver's shoulders. "I can't. This is-" he gestured with the books he'd collected so far. "There are some others I want and then I _have_ to go. Let's not- I don't want to stay any longer than I have to."

"Okay. Alright. Do you remember where Thawne put your things? I can-"

"Stay with me? Please? He's gone, I know." Barry held the hardbacks he'd gathered to his chest and squeezed Oliver's hand. "He's not coming back. But I really- I don't want to be alone here. Not again."

Oliver just nodded and returned the grip, pressing his hand against the books on Barry's chest and even giving him a small smile. They moved further into the stacks, Barry keeping hold of Oliver's hand until he found a volume he wanted to take with him. He circled back towards the entrance, but stopped when the door leading into the basement came into view. It was still hanging open, a brighter light shining just inside the entrance than the bare bulbs illuminating the large space he and Oliver were standing in. Barry tried to look away, told his feet to move him back towards the desks near the main entry, but he was glued to the spot.

"Barry? You okay?" Oliver tugged on his hand and then stepped into his space, blocking the doorway from view and lit from behind by it, concern in his eyes and the twist of his mouth. The light from the basement shone around him, highlighting his head and shoulders, looking just like a halo. Barry took in a shuddering breath and inclined his head.

"…I will be," he whispered. "My things, my bag. And my coat and wallet- I saw them… near the basement."

"I'll get them," Oliver said quickly. He managed to slip his hand free of the death grip Barry had on it and placed it on Barry's shoulder. Despite being in contact with Barry's much cooler skin, his palm was still so warm where it gripped him through the fabric of his shirts. "You stay right here, okay? Watch me, just keep your eyes on me and I'll be back in less than a minute. Alright?"

"…Okay. Yeah. You'll be right back."

"You'll see me the whole time- it's just over there," Oliver glanced over his shoulder, then looked back at Barry, holding eye contact. "I can see your stuff- I saw it. I'll be right back, I promise."

"Okay."

Oliver gave his shoulder another squeeze, then backed away a few steps. He kept moving backwards, looking over his shoulder every few seconds before returning his gaze to Barry. When he was halfway across the room, still easily within sight, he turned and sprinted to the long table where Barry's coat and messenger bag were still sitting. Oliver didn't even pause to slap the dust off of them, tucking the coat under his left arm and scooping the bag up by the strap and shrugging it up onto his right shoulder. He jogged back, eyes on Barry and a triumphant grin on his face. Something like warmth spread in Barry's chest, an elation and pride he'd never felt before.

"Let's go," Oliver announced. His smile was boyish and so carefree, Barry couldn't help returning it. He accepted his coat from Oliver, beat it over a nearby desk and then checked one of the inside pockets for his wallet, finding everything where he'd left them. He added some of the heavier books to his bag, dumping expired snacks and various other junk from inside it onto the floor. They turned to leave when Barry remembered the one crucial thing he'd almost left behind.

"My bed," he rasped, stopping short and making Oliver walk right into him. "My dirt it's- it's all down… there."

"Your-? Right, 'cause you're still so young," Oliver muttered. He sighed and faced the basement door, much further away now. "Are there any other bags around here? A duffle or..?"

"There's a crate. Maybe- it's not very big. More like a box? There's a crate down there."

"Barry. Hey, look at me," Oliver stepped in front of him again. He placed his hand on Barry's cheek, the heat of it shocking him out of his stupor. "Can we get you more dirt somewhere else? It has to be from your 'homeland', right? You were born in Central- we can just get a new box, some bags, something easy to carry, and fill them up anywhere in the city tomorrow night. Right?"

"It came from my backyard," Barry whispered. Oliver sighed and reached out to take Barry's coat.

"Set your things on this desk, okay? We'll leave everything up here and you and me will get that box together. Alright? Down and up in no time."

Barry moved on autopilot, aware that he was walking, that Oliver was holding his hand, but he seemed to watch everything happen from a distance. They approached the door and Barry felt himself balk, but Oliver placed his right arm on his shoulder, whispered soothing words in his ear, and they finally walked, haltingly, down the brightly lit stairs. Oliver didn't leave his side, kept either his hand or his stump on some part of Barry nearly every second. Barry located the crate- smaller than he remembered and more than half full of familiar earth- grabbed it and was halfway up the stairs before Oliver caught up with him. He ran all the way out of the building and didn't stop until he was several feet away, slouched over the box and heaving with the force of his sobs.

Oliver sat on the ground beside him, his hand firmly on Barry's back while the vampire cried. Barry eventually slid off the crate and, entirely accidentally, wound up in Oliver's lap. They stared at each other, eyes wide, and Barry watched Oliver blush for the first time, his own face warming with the blood still in his system. Barry moved first, using a burst of supernatural speed to stand on the other side of the box. Oliver blinked over at him for a few seconds, breathed a laugh that was nervous even to normally-oblivious Barry, and stood to dust himself off. He'd left everything else inside, rushing after Barry when he'd sped out, so they returned to the library, side-by-side, hand in hand, one last time.

"Such a waste," Oliver whispered on their way back to the desk with Barry's coat and bag. He reached out across the aisle and trailed his stump along a row of large, dusty volumes.

"It's all just vampire stories," Barry lied, sniffling. "Some stuffy histories and lore, even some romance novels. I doubt there's anything in here that you or one of the other Hunter families don't already know."

There was actually a wealth of knowledge about many races and creatures contained in Eobard's library, in addition to copies of vampire texts as old as human civilization. He certainly didn't have the largest collection of literature, but it was extensive and, when Eobard was around, well-maintained. His Maker had loved that library, all of his books, and Barry would take great joy in watching everything burn to ash. That one, final act of revenge was worth more to him than the hundreds of years of wisdom around him.

The main building was burning when they stepped outside again, flames bursting through the roof and reaching eager fingers towards the sky. Mick stood uncomfortably close to the burgeoning blaze, his eyes glazed over and a peaceful smile on his face. A pile of what could only be described as "loot" had been dumped carelessly a few feet away. One of them had dragged a large, plush chair out and Len was sprawled sideways in it, legs kicked up on the backrest, watching Mick intently.

"I'm getting Oliver's things out of the car, we're gonna burn the library, and then I hope we never see you ever again," Barry announced. Mick didn't nod, didn't so much as twitch a hand in acknowledgement.

"It's unlocked," Len said after a long pause. He never took his eyes off of Mick as he continued, "Flamethrower's over here."

Barry was a little disappointed that they were able to just get into the car- he'd briefly entertained the notion of breaking the back window to retrieve Oliver's things and his cooler. He'd have to double check the remaining three blood bags, as well. He didn't trust either Mick or Len to have moved them to a properly refrigerated unit while he'd slept. Oliver strapped his prosthetic back on, quickly went over his entire Kit and counted up his weapons as he re-armed himself. Barry shrugged into his old coat and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder so Oliver could better carry his own bag and Kit.

"We're going to need transportation," Oliver said as he tucked a knife into one of the pockets of his cargo pants. "I thought about just taking the stupid Humvee-"

"But we don't want them coming after us again," Barry finished with a wry grin.

"Exactly. We drove through a residential area- I can compensate anyone we borrow a car from-"

"Oh, we don't have to steal a car. I mean, it's still kind of stealing? Eobard has a garage with a few… okay, a _lot_ of fancy, expensive vehicles."

"It's not a good idea to drive around in something flashy," Oliver said, a hint of regret in his voice. "We'll just take the most practical thing in there."

"And smash up the rest?"

"I like your brand of therapy, Barry."

Barry gingerly retrieved the flamethrower from beside the chair Len was lounging on, jogging back across the compound to where Oliver waited outside the library. While he fiddled with the controls, he heard Oliver sigh.

"You're sure there's nothing ground-breaking in there? No valuable vampire-fighting knowledge?"

"Positive." Barry found it easy to lie about Eobard's possessions. As he shot an experimental gout of flame through the door, he wondered if the bond between them would make lying difficult or even impossible, someday. Oliver stood beside him as the library caught, both of them listening as the stacks collapsed and bindings sizzled. When the flames started to escape the structure, they backed away, Barry keeping it in his sights, intent to watch the collection his Maker had spent his long life amassing destroyed. But sunrise was only a few hours off, and Barry finally, reluctantly let Oliver lead him away. Mick met them halfway to the garage and demanded the return of the flamethrower. Barry handed it over gladly- he was starting to get nervous with so much fuel strapped to his back.

They decided on a steel grey Jaguar with plenty of trunk space for Barry's 4½X3X3 foot crate of earth and that was already equipped with special, UV tinted windows. Oliver leaned against their chosen vehicle and watched as Barry destroyed several muscle cars with his bare hands. Barry glanced at him a few times, in between tearing doors off and ripping seats apart; Oliver kept his expression schooled, features as apathetic as they'd been when Barry had first met him… only two days ago. Barry halted his carnage at the realization- how had so much happened in so little time!

Oliver took that as his cue, pushing off the hood and moving to the driver's side as he called, "We'd better hit the road if you don't want to spend all day in the trunk."

Barry laughed at the image of himself curled up inside his box, fast asleep as Oliver drove. He threw the door he'd been folding in half onto the concrete, further denting the metal and carving a groove in the formerly pristine floor. More out of spite to Len than a disregard for safety, neither of them buckled their seat belts as they left the compound. Barry kneeled in his seat, facing backwards as Oliver drove, watching the burning buildings shrink into the distance until the entire place was just a glow on the horizon. They stopped for food for Oliver at a Superette the next town over and found a much nicer motel than the one they'd left on the West Coast.

Barry's three remaining blood bags were still cold and untampered with, resting on a shelf in the mini fridge beside an egg salad sandwich and tiny vegetable snack box. He'd insisted that Oliver start eating better while he was traveling (and Hunting, though that was a conversation for another day). By the time the sun started to creep through the thin, motel curtains, Barry was settled in the closet, snug inside his box of Central City earth. Oliver had overturned the second, queen bed's mattress and propped it against the closet doors, providing an extra barrier of protection. It was far easier to fall asleep with Oliver out in the motel, after everything they'd been through together.

That day, Barry dreamed about fighting his mentor, Slade, inside Eobard's library as it burned around them…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for our special guests! I hope everyone enjoyed reading this version of Mick and Len as much as I did writing them!
> 
> Let me take a moment to let you all know that I have been reading every comment I've gotten on this fic and I'm _so grateful_ for them! Thank you so much! I fully intend to reply to them all once I'm further along in cleaning up the remainder of the story.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry checks in on Iris and makes a decision about his old life.

Iris West was just as beautiful as Barry remembered her. He sat on the roof over the front porch, arms folded on the window sill, and watched her sleep. It didn't occur to him until he'd gotten up there that it might be a little creepy to look in on someone while they didn't know you were watching, but he meant Iris no harm. He would never mean her any harm. Barry sighed and rested his head on one arm, the other lifted to trace invisible patterns in the equally invisible barrier that kept him out without an invite. He knew he shouldn't linger, that Oliver was waiting for him a few blocks away, but he was feeling selfish, wanted a few more minutes with the woman he'd told himself he was going to marry someday.

"I did get married, though," he whispered in to her, grinning proudly. "Even though it was an accident, it's kind of working out pretty well. So far."

He imagined Iris waking up and asking, fond and incredulous, "How on earth do you accidentally marry a person?" And he would tell her the whole story, from beginning to end, leaving nothing out, as best friends do. She would grin at him and reach outside to ruffle his hair and say, "Only Barry Allen panic-marries the person trying to kill him."

Barry smiled as he looked around Iris's room, taking in the few changes five years had brought. She was just as messy as she'd been the last time he'd been over- her unfathomable laundry system of "Clean-Dirty-It Can Go Either Way" still firmly in place, with clothes in various states of cleanliness strewn over every surface. Barry inhaled, instantly able to tell what had been washed most recently. He regretted many things about his new existence, but the look on Iris's face when he told her with a glance how long ago a skirt had been laundered would have been priceless.

She had two photos on her nightstand- one of her and Barry, Iris embracing him from behind and both of them smiling like children. And a slightly larger one of Iris and a man Barry didn't know; he was blonde, with warm eyes and a smile that lit up the entire room, but was entirely for Iris. Barry recognized the expression from the many times he'd caught himself looking at her.

He waited for jealousy to settle into his chest, but it never came. Iris looked just as happy with the blonde stranger as she did in the photo of her and Barry, maybe even more so. And monster though he was, Barry would never begrudge anyone he cared about their happiness, even if that joy didn't- and couldn't- come from him. It did hurt, but he knew that, in time, his heart would heal.

The phone that Oliver had bought him vibrated once, almost startling Barry right off the roof. He swatted at his pocket, trying to silence it, but no further sound came. He probably only had a few minutes left and confirmed it by glancing at the clock on Iris's bedside table- it was half-past three. If he didn't leave soon, Oliver might head out without him. Barry could catch up easily enough- he had both Oliver's scent and the ever-growing bond with which to track him- but he didn't want to experience the sensation of being left behind, even for a few seconds. With a final, wistful look at his oldest and best friend, his one-time love, Barry turned and jumped off the roof, landing silently on the walkway that led towards the street.

"You're one of them," an unfamiliar voice said, followed by the sound of a gun being cocked.

"I'm sorry?" Barry turned around slowly, hands open and at hip level, showing he was unarmed. Or at least that he didn't have a weapon at the ready.

"I told the big guy I wasn't interested in whatever my 'great uncle' left me," the man with the gun continued. He was also the man from Iris's new photo, but he wasn't smiling.

"Great uncle..? Oh. Oh _you're_ -"

"Barry? Barry Allen?"

For a wild moment, Barry thought the man shared his name, but then he realized that the stranger had recognized him. Likely from the photo in Iris's room, and any others she still had. He was pretty sure there was a word for that kind of coincidence; he was just too shell-shocked to think of it.

"…Yes?"

"Oh my god," Eddie Thawne breathed, putting his gun away and approaching Barry with outstretched hands and a compassionate smile. "Where have you _been_? We- Iris and Joe and your friends! They thought you were dead!"

"Yeah. About that… And your uncle, who, uhm, isn't- wasn't so great…"

Barry and Eddie sat on the front steps of Joe's porch while Barry relayed the story- minus some details about a certain accidental marriage- as succinctly as possible. He showed Eddie his "true face", reluctantly proving that he was a vampire, and was relieved that Eddie didn't recoil. Too much. During a pause in Eddie's interrogation- he was a cop, it was his job to ask questions- Barry fired off a couple texts, letting Oliver know he would meet him as soon as he could and would also explain his lateness. He pocketed the phone before he could read Oliver's no doubt disappointed reply.

"Five years," Eddie said, shaking his head in wonder. "I can't imagine what you've been through, Bear."

"She still calls me that?" Barry asked, voice small and eyes wide and a little damp.

Eddie chuckled and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a friendly shake. "Yeah, all the time. She- everyone really misses you. When they find out-"

"Oh no," Barry waved his hands frantically, dislodging Eddie's. "You can't tell them! I can't- they can't know about… any of this. I… I shouldn't have even told _you_ , but you kind of already knew. _Thanks, Mick_."

"I can't just lie to Iris-"

"It's not like she's going to ask you if saw me this morning."

Eddie was quiet for a moment and looked away, hands clasped in his lap. "She hasn't given up on you. All these years and she checks in with me- has me look into every report that sounds even a little bit like it could be you." He smiled sadly, leaning back and looking up at the porch roof. "None of them were, I'm- I'm glad and, really sorry to know that, now. But she'll ask. And I can't lie to her. I love her, Barry."

"I'm not so sure she'll believe you. Did you tell her about Mick? About… Eobard?"

Eddie shook his head and sighed, the action slumping his shoulders as though a great weight was pressed down on him. Barry supposed it was, at that point.

"I'm sorry, Eddie." Barry rested his hand on Eddie's back, rubbing a slow, gentle circle. "I don't want you to lie to her, but… The more people that know, the greater the risk to- to someone I care about, now. And to me." He'd almost said "Oliver", and though he'd stopped himself in time, implying there were new people in his life that he had to protect still seemed kind of suspicious, even to Barry.

"A vampire friend?" Eddie seemed both apprehensive and excited at the prospect. Barry started to shake his head, but thought better of it and nodded.

"Yeah, I mean, kind of? He- they've been helping since I got out."

"'He'?" Eddie turned a muted version of the smile Barry had seen in Iris's photo on him. "I'm glad you're not alone. But, uh-" The expression faltered and his brow knit in concern. "It's not… that Mick guy, is it?"

"No! Oh geez, no! You don't have to worry about Mick- he's not gonna come after you again."

"How do you know that? Did you, y'know-" Eddie mimed stabbing himself in the chest. Barry groaned, dropping his face into his hands for a few seconds.

"No, he's still alive. He's just got a lot of other stuff to focus on, now. Seriously- don't worry about it."

Eddie nodded, not looking entirely convinced or relieved. He studied Barry for a while, likely mulling over everything he'd been told. Finally, he slapped both hands to the tops of his thighs and stood, rolling his neck and giving his back a little twist.

"I guess… the next time she asks me and I tell her I haven't found anything, it won't be a total lie. You came to me with most of this, after all."

"I'm leaving Central," Barry said in a rush. "Maybe even the country- I don't know yet. I just- I had to see her one more time. You won't run into me again, Eddie. And she'll let me go, someday." Barry stood and reached out to shake Eddie's hand, but was enveloped in a hug, instead. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been embraced so warmly and Barry might have moaned quietly at the comforting sensation.

"She's got you, after all," Barry added. He returned the hug, careful not to squeeze too tightly and pulling away before it felt awkward. Eddie was a really good hugger.

"We, uh, I didn't want to just drop it on you, but," Eddie paused, glancing away before continuing, "We're engaged." His smile was more proud than sheepish, almost wondering; as though he couldn't believe his good fortune.

Barry grinned and clapped him on the back, a little too hard, sending Eddie stumbling forward a step. "Sorry," Barry laughed, reaching out a steadying hand. "Congratulations! You- I haven't known you very long, but you seem like a good man."

"I'm going to spend the rest of my life working on being good enough for her," Eddie declared.

"You will be. You are." Barry stuffed his hands into his pockets, one of them gripping his phone tight for a moment. "Take care of yourself, Eddie. I know you'll take good care of Iris."

"You too, Bear. I hope… I hope you have a good life."

Barry walked to the sidewalk, pausing a moment to take a steadying breath. He wanted to look in on Cisco and Caitlin, as well, but he wasn't sure they'd be living in the same apartment- a lot could change in five years! And he didn't want to risk running into either or both of them and feeling compelled to tell them what had happened. It would be best for all of them if his friends thought he was dead and gone, no matter how much the thought of it made Barry's chest ache.

With one last glance over his shoulder at Joe's house and Eddie standing vigil on the porch, Barry jogged down the lamplit street to catch up with his husband.

They hadn't talked about the bond, their marriage, much in the few days since leaving Eobard's compound, but Barry at least still found it kind of funny. Though the more he got to know Oliver, the more time he spent around him, the more he became convinced that he could fall in love with the Hunter. It was one of the worst of his non-literal curses (not that he'd picked up any literal ones. That he knew of); he'd always grown attached to people quickly, announcing that he was in love with and would marry Iris when they'd met in preschool. He'd become fast friends with Cisco when they were paired together in chem. Lab at college. Caitlin had been absorbed into Barry's life with a similar ease, once Cisco had introduced her. And it was his trusting nature and the gentle way Eobard had talked to and treated him, at first, that had Barry making excuses for his Maker for more than a year after he'd shown what he was really like.

Oliver was waiting where Barry had parted with him, two blocks away, but sitting on the hood instead of behind the driver's seat. They'd left the Jaguar in a seedier part of town and picked up an SUV that reeked of marijuana, no matter how many cans of air freshener they sprayed the inside with. Barry had jokingly suggested that he drive, since Oliver would likely get high from all the combined fumes. But in the ten minutes that Barry had spent behind the wheel of the Jaguar before they'd ditched it, Oliver found that that was a terrible idea and said as much. He'd taken the ribbing well and Barry was certain it had been 24 hours since he'd seen Oliver scowl or, worse, put on his impassive Hunter expression.

"Did she wake up and see you?"

"No, but her, uh, fiancé was there. Eddie. Eddie Thawne."

Oliver stared at him. "Did you kill him?"

"Oh my God, Ollie, no! He's nothing like… Eobard. They're- I think they're only distantly related? Like, Mick said 'great uncle', but I'm pretty sure Eobard was a lot older than that. And Eddie's actually great! He's funny and sweet and you should see his smile-"

"Sounds like you want him to be your fiancé."

"What?" Barry laughed and rocked back on his heels, hands firmly in his pockets. "No, he's just- I'm happy for Iris, that she found someone. Besides, I'm already happily married. …I mean…"

Barry couldn't look away, terrified yet thrilled by how Oliver would react to his revelation. It certainly wasn't an 'I love you', but it was close. He was expecting indignation, maybe gruff disapproval or an insistence that vampire marriages didn't mean the same thing to humans, but Oliver's reaction took him by surprise. He was regarded thoughtfully for a moment before a small, almost shy smile teased Oliver's mouth.

"Good," Oliver said after clearing his throat, voice firm. He nodded once and turned back to the car, circling the front and getting inside. "Let's see if we can make Keystone before dawn. I'll get us a better vehicle and look into any shops with UV tinting while you get some sleep."

Barry stood outside the car, hand on the passenger side door, for several seconds. He had no idea how to process what he'd just witnessed, so he filed it away for examination during the drive. As they headed towards Keystone, Barry wasn't sure if Oliver had been teasing him or if he was accepting of and genuinely happy with their relationship. Had he imagined the bashfulness in Oliver's smile? What had he meant by his comment about Eddie? Had Oliver's statement of "Good" been about Barry's happiness for Iris… or agreement that he and Barry were married happily? Barry was too emotionally tired to ask so many questions (and maybe scared of the answers he'd get), but resolved to find a way to get it all out in the open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, first of all! 
> 
> So, hey. It came to my attention early this morning that some of the things I've written about vampires were inspired by a really interesting ColdFlash ficlet by [TheRedHarlequin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedHarlequin/pseuds/TheRedHarlequin). You can check it out [here.](https://theroguesharlequin.tumblr.com/post/176997000503/a-redharlequin-coldflash-vampire-au)
> 
> I'd kind of forgotten about it and then, apparently, subconsciously included a lot of the details she came up with, here. So she deserves a lot of credit and I'm not remotely as creative as I thought I was. Oh well.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver calls home and has a lot to think about.

Oliver Queen didn't do jealousy. He'd been in very few relationships over the years, none of them serious and every one ended because of his family's legacy. Any time one of his partner's started to get curious about what he did most nights, where he disappeared to or the long trips he would take, he cut and ran. He never got attached, some of them he hadn't even liked that much; he'd just been looking for a temporary distraction, something to take the stressful edge off an unsuccessful hunt or a disagreement (fight) with his parents. Even the sex had been fairly business-like. So since Oliver didn't invest himself completely in any relationship- business or pleasure- he knew for a fact that it was not jealousy that flared in his chest when Barry started listing the inexplicably-met Eddie Thawne's positive traits.

Ever since he'd witnessed Barry at Thawne's nest, revisiting what was undoubtedly the worst place Barry had ever been, Oliver was able to admit that he liked the young vampire. The pity and sympathy that had formed as he'd questioned Barry the night they'd met had grown into something that could pass for "fondness". He was protective of Barry, though the vampire's physical strength, when… well-fed practically dwarfed his own. He supposed it was more of an emotional protectiveness, a growing want (need? …Desire?) to keep him from further hurt and heartbreak. Barry was still so young, new to both being a vampire and being on his own; the night after they'd left Thawne's nest behind, Barry had told him he was still living with his parents when they'd been murdered. He was saving for an apartment, trying to pay off his student loans, and he wasn't at all ashamed of his situation. "The millennial condition," he'd called it, his laugh just infectious enough to make Oliver smile.

Barry was naïve and trusting, traits he had readily admitted and vowed to work on. He didn’t want to stop believing the best in people, he'd said, but he knew that, despite the power he possessed, he had to be more careful, more guarded. "Not as bad as you are about it, but maybe halfway there."

The fact that Barry had managed to stumble across his creator's sole living relative (if Mick and his Familiar could be believed) was remarkable; if Oliver believed in coincidences, Eddie Thawne seemed like a big one. Oliver planned to look into him once they were settled for the day. Barry seemed untroubled by the entire thing and, in fact, came back to the SUV looking much happier than when he'd left. It had been nice to see a smile on his face that wasn't tinged by pain or sadness. Oliver gripped the steering wheel tighter and forced his thoughts to the present and the long trip ahead of them. He didn't have time or the inclination to analyze what it was that he felt towards the young vampire. There was a lot to do between Kansas and California.

It wasn't often that he trekked halfway across the country on a hunt, or even entirely across. There were other Hunter clans in America that took care of their own territories. And all of them, no matter how young or small, were proud and competent; assistance was usually only requested with Ancient Ones and larger nests. So most of Oliver's "work" was done along and around the West Coast. He'd been all over the country and even flown overseas a few times, but California was home turf and he knew the Bay Area and its surroundings like the back of his left hand. He was anxious to get back, to check on Thea and to just be home.

He glanced over at Barry, a weight in his stomach as he thought of returning to Queen Mansion. Oliver had a home to return to, family and friends he could see and interact with; Barry had been forced to leave everything he knew and loved behind. Oliver hated Eobard Thawne a little more every day. He wasn't sure if it was the bond that was feeding into his protectiveness of Barry or just the man himself that inspired it. Barry was certainly strong- physically and emotionally, the latter especially, to have survived what he'd been through- but he was surprisingly gentle and kind, as well. Oliver had never associated those things with a vampire and still had difficulty reconciling what he'd learned and knew about Barry with what he'd been taught his entire life.

Maybe he was drawn to the curiosity of the young vampire- so different from the monsters he'd been trained to destroy. But was Barry unique? How many others like him had Oliver dispatched, forced to attack him the way they had out of self defense and not malice? It was an uncomfortable thought. He'd certainly killed vampires that meant and did harm; Oliver selfishly hoped that those were the default, the more common variety. There was little pleasant about Oliver's thoughts as he drove, but he'd had years of practice at hiding such things. He didn't want to worry Barry.

They entered Keystone city limits an hour before full sunrise, Barry curled up nervously in the back seat. Oliver left him with a heavy blanket that had come with the SUV while he checked in, ignoring the way the motel receptionist sniffed disdainfully at the lingering smell of weed. He got them two rooms- one on the far side of the structure, facing west, and another on the opposite, east-facing wall, for more privacy and security for them both. Oliver wasn't sure how fast word travelled with vampires; Barry had essentially handed over Thawne's land, but it was still possible others had heard of Thawne's passing later and wanted a share of the spoils. Oliver wouldn't feel comfortable until he'd gotten Barry home, somewhere he could best watch out for the young vampire.

While Barry slept, curled up in his box in the small closet, Oliver located an auto shop that offered UV tinting. He drove more than an hour out of the city, abandoning the SUV to legally purchase, with cash, a slightly newer- and much better smelling- Jeep. Once at the garage, he had to argue at length with the owner of the shop regarding the amount of tinting he wanted, finally getting the woman to agree and have the vehicle ready by the end of the day, for almost double the regular price. He returned to the motel and calculated the best time to call home.

Thea was training with Laurel when he phoned around noon, and Oliver talked to Sara while he waited for his little sister to return to the house. He filled her in on a few of the details, not wanting to have to recount the entire hunt (and its consequences) more than once. Barry was never mentioned, but Sara had heard of Eobard Thawne before.

"Our records aren't clear on his age, but most of the other sources I've looked into put him at around four- to five hundred. Big player in the mystical underworld, too." The sound of fabric or hair rustled over the receiver as Sara likely switched the handset from one ear to the other. "There were rumors a few years back that he was working on an army, that he had some kind of skill when it came to creating new vampires. Similar sources thought he'd built his nest on a pretty big leyline, but no one's been able to get in and out again to confirm."

Oliver held his tongue; Barry had mentioned a leyline, and Oliver trusted his Intel. He trusted a lot about Barry, which was the main reason he wasn't going to mention his traveling partner just yet.

"-still there? You got kinda quiet."

"Yeah. Sorry, I was looking at my notes. Any mention of others in his nest, part of his family?"

"There's an extant Edward Thawne, also in Central City, Missouri," Sara started, pausing and shuffling through papers. "Doesn't appear to be any other connection and no association. Edward's human, a cop, detective out of the CCPD. Squeaky clean, too. If he knows anything about his ancestor, guy's great at keeping secrets."

"I don't think he knows," Oliver muttered.

"Let me guess- you have a feeling."

"Trusting my gut's never failed me before." Oliver chuckled, absently tapping his prosthetic on the nightstand. "It'll probably be about a week before I'm back. There's a lot to cover." Oliver paused, his eyes trailing to the closet, then the mini fridge with its healthy food and two bags of human blood. "A lot to discuss."

"…You okay? We, uh, heard about your hand. Laurel took the calls from the insurance guy."

He grimaced, glad the topic had come up over the phone; it would make any in-person discussions a little bit easier. "Just part of the job," he replied, smiling at the memory of Barry's casual question nearly a week ago. "It's been an adjustment, but nothing I can't handle."

"But are you okay? Did you find out what happened to Wilson?"

Oliver swore quietly, gripping the phone so hard the plastic creaked. "I'm fine. And I'll tell you, Laurel and Thea everything. When I get home. Tell Thea-" He paused, sighed. "I'll call again later, but not to wait up for me."

"Oliver, I-"

"Good talking to you, Sara." He set the handset back in its cradle, then stood, leaning over the nightstand to unplug the phone from the wall. Oliver stared at the phone for a while, then lay back on his bed, hand and prosthetic folded over his stomach. He'd told her the truth about adjusting; he would likely always miss the hand, but he'd already grown accustomed to the prosthetic and hardly ever reached for things with his right arm while he wasn't wearing it. There were better designs available, options with greater dexterity that he intended to get and train with, but the simple model he had was serving him well.

Any discussion about Slade, though, was as painful as the day he'd killed his mentor. He wanted to leave that aspect of the hunt to one sentence and give Thea his notes for any details he'd been able to record. He was surprised the dreams had stopped already, though that mostly meant his thoughts drifted to the betrayal, the fight, more often when he was awake. He just had to hope that time would dull the wound, that he could treat it like his hand and someday adjust to that loss, as well.

Needing a distraction, Oliver launched himself off the bed and moved to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of soda and pausing to study the remaining blood bags. Being so young, Barry needed to feed more often; they'd discussed it briefly, both of them uncomfortable with the topic, and determined he could get by on three pints over the course of two weeks. Oliver intended to provide him with more, in case they ran into trouble or Barry depleted his supply with more adorable blushing. Oliver laughed and closed the fridge door, shuffling over to lean against the closet as he drank his soda. Barry had told him that things like blushing and exertion caused his body to burn through the blood he drank more quickly. Oliver had told him to stop doing embarrassing things. And Barry had replied that, "If you weren't so hot, maybe I wouldn't blush so much", following the statement with a vivid, scarlet flush. The rest of the drive had been awkwardly silent, but Oliver found he wasn't bothered by Barry's compliment; quite the opposite, really.

If he'd met Barry before, when he was human, Oliver was certain he'd have been instantly attracted. Barry's easy smile and dimples, freckles that likely wouldn't have stood out so starkly, skin not as pale, warm, beautiful eyes, and his long limbs were all things Oliver liked in other men. His sense of humor, quick wit and infectious laughter didn't hurt, either. Oliver's fingers had been itching to see if Barry's hair was as soft as it looked and he briefly entertained the tantalizing notion of opening the closet and carding a hand through while the young vampire was asleep. By Barry's own admission, he slept like the dead during the day, only waking when he'd been starving. So he wouldn't even know, would he… Oliver shook his head and shoved himself off the floor, away from the closet and temptation. It was just the strange, vampire bond, sneaking thoughts into his brain. The marriage bond, which was mental and emotional and every day, something he was able to find more comfort in.

Barry said the connection would take months or years to strengthen, that neither of them would feel anything from the other for longer still. But Oliver wasn't so sure; Barry had fought his first bond, had hated his creator. Neither he nor Barry had ever held any real malice towards the other and Barry had admitted more than once, usually accidentally, that he liked Oliver. In addition to Barry outright stating he thought Oliver was "hot", he'd felt the vampire staring at him and caught him in the act several times; Barry's face always tinting pink, biting his lip and looking away. Oliver wondered how much of that staring was Barry being attracted to him as a man, and how much was an interest in the blood in Oliver's veins. He tried not to think about the latter too often. And he wasn't bothered at all by the former.

He hadn't given the garage his room or the motel phone number, making sure they had as little information about him as possible. An hour before the auto shop was scheduled to close, Oliver tore a page from his notebook, leaving a message for Barry that he was picking up their ride and would return as soon as he could. He kept only a few essential weapons on his person- a few knives, a stake and his gun- and headed out. The shop owner tried to tack on extra fees and Oliver fought her on every penny; just because he had access to more than enough money, didn't mean he was suddenly going to start using it. The Familiar's comment about Oliver not keeping a lower profile stayed with him, and he was even more cautious with his funds and how long he and Barry would stay in one place.

Once he'd haggled the price back to something reasonable, Oliver paid with one of a host of credit cards that maintained a small balance and had a fake name on the account. He stopped for more food on the way back to the motel, choosing vegetables and meal bars over his usual fast food fare without thinking. He grabbed an extra bottle of water from the cooler at check-out for Barry and made it back to their room as Barry was exiting the bathroom, a dingy towel wrapped low around his waist. If Barry had been human, he would've been cute, absently rubbing his hair dry and sending Oliver a warm smile as Oliver closed the door behind him.

But Barry wasn't human; he was a vampire, he was beautiful, and he was Oliver's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually don't have much of anything to add or expound on this time! This was some fun, overdue introspection for Oliver and the first time I think I've written for Sara Lance (even if it was just over the phone).
> 
> Thank you for reading- I'm still delighted that people are enjoying this!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprises, revelations and possibly an answer or two (or maybe just more questions).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a couple rough patches to start this chapter, but things perk up quickly. Nothing graphic, just mention of Eobard and his treatment of Barry.
> 
> Also- yay, a longer chapter!

The drive through Kansas was uneventful and the terrain so flat, Oliver reluctantly let Barry drive from their second stop in Kansas on into Colorado. They restricted their road time to no more than six hours and exceeded the speed limit as often as possible. Oliver had barely slept in nearly three days and, despite his worry over Barry's demonstratively bad driving, managed to pass out within minutes of leaning his seat back. It didn't feel like he was sleeping for very long when he was jolted awake by the Jeep coming to a sudden stop. He grunted as the seat belt dug into his chest and lap, instantly alert and looking around for the danger. They were parked on the shoulder of the highway, the vehicle leaning towards the subtle slope that opened out on the surrounding plain. There were no cars, no other life immediately visible, and Oliver turned to ask Barry what he'd seen.

"What were you dreaming about," Barry demanded. His eyes were sharp as he searched Oliver's face, waiting impatiently for a response.

"I don't- was I?" Oliver rubbed his face with his hand, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving him exhausted. He blinked and tried to remember. The steering wheel was bent inwards at twin angles, Barry's knuckles white where he gripped it. "It was dark," Oliver said slowly, images coming back through a soupy haze. "And cramped. Smelled kind of musty, I think. Someone was yelling- a man, older than me. He- I didn't see his face, but he was familiar. I knew him- know him."

"What did he say. What did he do."

"He was mad- pissed. He ripped the lid off my box and just, laid into me." Dread uncurled in Oliver's stomach, icy bile climbing his throat as the details of the dream, the nightmare, coalesced. "Said I was useless, stupid. That he'd drag me into the sun, himself… Barry," Oliver fumbled with his seat belt, turning to face the other man.

"'I don't know why I bother,'" Barry said, his voice monotone and just barely louder than a whisper as he repeated what Oliver had dreamed. "'Be glad your parents don't have to see what a failure you are.'"

"Barry."

"I didn't want to feed, that first night. He- he showed me how, did it first, but I was so scared. I didn't want to hurt anyone-"

"Barry, hey! Look at me." Oliver reached across the console, the inches feeling more like yards. He placed his hand on Barry's where it was still molded to the steering wheel and Barry flinched violently, jerking the hand away as though he'd been shocked or burned. He was breathing heavily as he pried the fingers of his other hand free and turned to face Oliver, reaching out for him. Oliver met him halfway, catching Barry's cold hand between the prosthetic and his left.

"It's okay," Oliver told him, keeping his voice low, quiet, and trying to sound soothing. "You're okay, now. He's gone, remember? I killed him- I stopped him for good. It's okay."

"You dreamed one of my memories," Barry mumbled. He was staring at their hands, watching as Oliver ran a calloused thumb over Barry's pale skin. "It shouldn't be- you shouldn't be able to do that. Not this soon."

"But I did," Oliver said. "You don't have to talk about it, that time. And… I think there are things about this bond that you don't know."

"A lot," Barry admitted, snorting out a short, bitter laugh. "I know what Eobard told me and what I looked up-. That's what some of the books I grabbed are about. I wanted to- I was trying to find anything that would let me break the bond he formed with me."

Barry sighed, the action making his entire body shudder. "So I've missed things. _Lots_ of things, seems like. I think… I think I've been getting things from you, too." Barry's hands fidgeted and Oliver started to release him, but he used his enhanced speed (that Oliver was growing more accustomed to every night) to switch their hold, clasping Oliver's hand and prosthetic between his. "I know I have! I've been dreaming."

Oliver blinked, dragging his eyes away from their tangled fingers to stare at Barry. "Dreaming about what, exactly."

"No, Ollie, you don't get it- I've been _dreaming_! Vampires don't- we don't have dreams. I've read countless books about it and didn't have a single dream or nightmare for _five years_. …Until I met you, until our bond."

A pleasant little thrill slithered through Oliver at that, Barry referring to and thinking of the bond as "theirs"; at the thought of anything being or belonging to just the two of them. "What have you dreamed- what did you see?"

"Mostly fighting your- fighting Slade," Barry amended quietly, glancing away. Was it possible he felt even a fraction of Oliver's pain on the subject? "Sometimes in the library while it burns. Once I think- the other night, I mean- I think it was the actual fight. I don't- we don't have to talk about it! Lord knows I don't want to revisit any of my- anything that happened to me any time soon!"

"Did he say anything to you?" Oliver asked, pleased that his voice remained steady.

Barry held his gaze for several long moments, at least a minute, before replying in a whisper, "Mercy."

Oliver nodded, pulling at Barry's grip until he was released. He ran his hand through his hair, grabbed a surprising amount near the top of his head and tugged. Barry hissed something that sounded a lot like "I'm sorry" and Oliver sighed.

"I felt that," Barry said, his soft words tinged with awe. "Just now- how much you're hurting. Oh, Oliver, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." Oliver waved his prosthetic dismissively, and then stopped, dropping his arm into his lap. "…I'm sorry, too."

They'd both been through so much, most of it painful. Oliver didn't like to look too closely at himself, at what or how he felt about the things that had happened to him. Barry was the infinitely braver of the two of them in that respect- he had been and even still was more willing to discuss his experiences, to air his many fears. Oliver admired him for that, more than he thought he could ever express, let alone say out loud. But maybe he didn't have to _say_ anything.

He closed his eyes and focused first on his breathing, waving a hand to silence Barry when he started to ask what Oliver was doing. He allowed a second for the squeeze of his heart, the sour in his stomach as he used the meditation techniques Slade had taught him. When he found his center, when the world started to drop away, Oliver focused on the bond, or at least what he thought might be the bond. It was a fuzzy, barely-realized thing; he envisioned a thread that connected them, heart to heart, and sent his opinion of Barry through it. _You're so brave. You're stronger than you realize. I'm proud of you. I want to be stronger for you_. It was easier to think the words, to use them as a springboard for what he felt. And when he heard a gasp and felt a cold hand on his shoulder, he knew it had worked, even a little.

"How-?"

"We have a lot of reading to do when we stop for the day," Oliver replied, smiling.

They stayed on the side of the road for nearly an hour, climbing onto the hood of the Jeep to stare up at the star-strewn sky. A shooting star raced across the expanse, disappearing behind the shadow of distant mountains, joined by more until it became a meteor shower. Oliver felt Barry shift beside him, sliding closer until they were hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. It was easy to take Barry's hand in his, laying their linked fingers across the vampire's chest and feeling the slow, dull beat of his heart.  
  


* * *

 

Oliver managed to fall asleep again and stayed asleep until Barry drove them into the Colorado Rockies; Barry had to shake him awake to find a place to stop for the day. He was glad they'd purchased- _Oliver_ had purchased, as Barry only had 15 dollars to his name- a Jeep (though he still felt bad for stealing the SUV before it), as it took to the mountain roads with ease. Oliver directed them to a cheap but surprisingly nice lodge; unfortunately the only room available faced east and got full sun for most of the day. There was a spacious enough closet, though, and Barry hauled his crate inside with an hour to spare before sunrise. They stripped both beds and used the combined sheets and comforters to create heavy curtains as additional protection. Oliver closed the blinds and used the sewing kit he kept to sew the curtains closed.

Barry watched him from the sole, king-sized bed, followed the deft, graceful movement of his hand and his fingers. He didn't bother taking the curtains down to work on them, instead holding them in place with his prosthetic. Oliver's arms flexed as he worked and Barry got lost in the motion of his shoulders. By the time he'd finished- the stitches were wider, so they'd be easier to remove and less noticeable once he and Oliver left- an effective barrier had been created. Barry resisted the urge to clap- he didn't want Oliver to think he was being mocked, even though Barry was genuinely impressed with both the speed and skill of Oliver's sewing.

For the first time since settling in with Oliver, Barry was reluctant to sleep. He wanted to stay up and start researching their bond, but he was far too tired. He couldn't fight the urge for long; he managed to wait until Oliver had to help guide him to the closet and step into his crate. With a murmured "G'night," Barry pulled the lid back in place and smiled as he listened to the door close, the whisper of the sheets falling closed easing him into sleep. He'd had dreams almost every night since the day after returning to Eobard's compound. Though many of them were scary or sad, Barry looked forward to them and was learning to recognize them as dreams and not his own memories. Maybe it was due to Oliver willingly strengthening the bond, or maybe it was just the fact that they were growing closer, but Barry's dream that day was a happy one. He and a younger girl were running, but not away from anything or -one; they were racing, seeing who could reach the top floor of the spacious house, first.

Barry was an only child, had no idea what it would've been like to have a sibling, but he felt such a swelling of love and pride when the girl beat him, that he knew she had to be Oliver's sister. Her features weren't clear, face blurred in the middle every time he tried to focus on it, but he got the impression of wavy hair and eyes that crinkled at the corners when she laughed or smiled. The closest thing Barry had felt to what he experienced in that dream was his love for Cisco and Caitlyn, though the warmth in his chest felt so much larger in comparison.

He woke up more refreshed than he could remember feeling in a long time, climbing out of the crate and closet, and heading into the bathroom to relieve himself. The door was mostly closed and Barry pushed through, intent on remembering the details of the dream and asking Oliver about his sister. He had his pants undone and zipper down before he noticed that Oliver was in the bathroom, standing naked at the sink. The air was heavy with steam, a stripe of mirror wiped clear, the sink filled with water and suds. Oliver had been shaving, his chin and the right side of his face finished and the razor frozen halfway to Oliver's left half. They locked eyes, Barry just as locked in place by surprise, mortification, and then morbid curiosity. He broke eye contact and looked down almost against his will, so painfully slow that Oliver had plenty of time to yell or throw a towel at him.

Oliver shirtless was a fairly common (and always welcome) sight, had been since that first night when they'd had to deal with Mick. But Oliver entirely nude was a treat; as much as Barry loved strong arms, he was powerless against a great butt and powerful thighs. Oliver's legs were more on the lean side, his body built naturally through his work; the kind of body Barry had always envied as much as he'd appreciated. Barry had already seen that his torso and arms were peppered with old scars, cuts and slashes of varying depth, and he'd wanted to trace them, one into another, like a topographical map. Oliver's legs had less scar tissue, unfamiliar landmarks Barry wanted to memorize as he had the rest.

Oliver made a quiet sound in the back of his throat and Barry thanked God he'd done so before the vampire's appraisal could become even dirtier; he'd still managed to catch the barest glimpse and desperately wanted to see more. He knew he looked guilty, caught staring (how many times had Oliver noticed him doing it before?), but he didn't expect a similar expression on Oliver's face. The razor had lowered almost to the counter- Barry saw it from the corner of his eye- but Oliver was no longer paying attention to it. His eyes had mirrored Barry's and were still fixated on the hand Barry had left at his own pants, zipper still down. He was still safely tucked into his underwear, but Barry's perusal had cost him- he was going to need another blood bag to recoup the amount that had rushed to his groin. Oliver had to have noticed- that was why he was staring. At least he didn't look disgusted, not like the face Barry saw him make the first day Barry drank in front of him.

The thought of feeding was ice water on his libido; Barry hastily did up his pants and started to stutter an apology, backing out of the bathroom. Oliver reached after him, mouth working but the words not making it past his lips, and dropped the razor. Instead of letting it fall on the counter or into the water in the sink, he fumbled for it and caught the blades along his thumb. The razor dropped again, landing with a dull splash, but Barry's eyes had zeroed in on the tiny lines of blood that had bloomed across the pad of Oliver's thumb. He bit the inside of his lip so hard that it bled. It was much easier to look Oliver in the face again.

"Are you okay? Where's the first aid kit?"

"…Are _you_ okay?" Oliver responded with his own question, holding his hand close to his chest.

"I'm not gonna attack you or anything," Barry scoffed, more amused than offended. "Let me help- be right back!"

He darted out into the room before Oliver could protest, locating the kit and returning in under a minute. Oliver was running cold water over the wound and Barry set the box on the counter slowly, making sure not to make any sudden moves. He couldn't lie to himself- he was tempted, but it was much easier to resist with the knowledge that he had an alternative, out in the fridge. He opened the little kit and removed a packet of gauze, bottle of alcohol and finger bandage.

"Can I-?" Barry gestured at Oliver's hand with the alcohol; he was sure Oliver could clean it himself, that he'd figured out all kinds of ways to take care of his injuries with just one hand, but it would go faster if Barry assisted.

Oliver nodded slowly, looking a little confused, either at Barry's offer or his own acceptance, Barry wasn't sure. Humming his pleasure, Barry gingerly took Oliver's hand between his own, dousing the gauze pad with rubbing alcohol and swiping it along Oliver's thumb. Oliver didn't make a sound, didn't even wince, and Barry didn't think, didn't stop himself from bringing the injured thumb to his lips and placing a kiss there. Oliver jerked his hand back, took a step away, and Barry blinked. How on earth he'd forgotten what he was for even a second, he didn't know.

"I'm sorry!" He shouted, too loud. Barry set the gauze down and raised his hands up by his head. "I'm so sorry- I didn't mean anything! My mom- she used to- when I'd get a cut, she always kissed it before- before putting the Band-Aid on! I just… I'm sorry. I forgot."

Oliver studied him warily, keeping his hand as far from Barry as he could manage. He glanced between the gauze pad and Barry's still-raised hands for a few seconds before sighing and moving back into Barry's space. "It's… okay," he said, not sounding too certain that it was. "Not entirely your fault- it was bleeding-"

"I didn't do it to-! Damnit, Oliver! I was trying to help- I wasn't thinking about being… what I am. I was just trying to help…"

"Okay. Here- finish… up?" Oliver's confusion from a few moments ago was dwarfed by his full-blown bafflement as he stared at his thumb. Barry's eyes followed, looking at the small smear of blood on the pad. He looked up, about to ask what was wrong, when Oliver snatched up the gauze and rubbed it between his thumb and index finger, dropping it back on the counter and thrusting his hand in Barry's face. "What the hell is this?"

Barry blinked Oliver's out-stretched thumb into focus. The skin was clean, a little shiny… and completely healed. He lowered his hands slowly, taking hold of Oliver's wrist and turning it from side to side, trying to determine if it was a trick of the light. He ran a finger across Oliver's thumb, his own smooth skin not catching on the cuts that had been there only seconds ago.

"How..?"

"That's what I want to know. What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything! You saw me- that's all stuff from _your_ kit! First aid kit. I just kissed…" Barry trailed off, letting Oliver's wrist go and reaching up to touch his own lips. He felt the inside of his mouth and when he removed his finger, a tiny bead of blood trickled down to his palm.

"Is that yours? Why are _you_ bleeding?" Oliver sounded panicked. Barry couldn't help chuckling.

"C'mon, you know just as well as I do that it takes a lot more than this to become a vampire."

"But that is your blood. You… healed me. I didn't know- I didn't know vampires could do that."

"…We… can't?" Barry blanched at the hard stare Oliver gave him. "I didn't know I could do that! I've never- I only know what I've read, but I didn't think we could do _this_!"

"Have you read anything like this at all? Did Thawne ever say anything to you?"

Barry sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He and Oliver winced at the same time, remembering the bit of blood that had been on Barry's finger. "I didn't get too deep into vampire abilities, but I don't remember anything about blood healing wounds. Eobard used to- he said a couple times that he chose me for a reason… And Mick said something about some kind of plans he had? Eobard's plans, I mean."

"So this isn't a vampire trait but a… a Barry Allen thing? Do you remember- have you ever healed someone before, when you were human?"

"I think I'd remember something like that," Barry scoffed. He worried his lip between his teeth, sucking on the small wound inside his mouth. "Kind of regretting burning that library down, now."

"Alright," Oliver sighed. "I'm going to finish up in here. Then you're going to shower and then we're going to go over every book you have. We were going to learn more about the bond, anyway."

"Do you think the bond has something to do with it? With-" Barry gestured vaguely at Oliver's hand.

"It might. I'm not sure. But we'll find out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, this is one of my favourite chapters- I had a lot of fun putting these events together and bringing them into research mode. I kept a lot of their findings vague (mostly out of laziness lol) and even though I've read this at least a dozen times through, can't remember how much or what I actually, definitively resolve. I'm sorry?
> 
> In Barry's dream, where he can't really see Thea's face- that's drawn from my own dreams. I know who people are when I dream, but I never see faces. They're either blurry or I never look at people directly (the latter drawn directly from real life and my nigh inability to make eye contact). 
> 
> And I'm finally listing the chapter count! This story has been done for a couple weeks now, but I only made myself do a full, edit-mode read-through yesterday afternoon and have decided it's the best version I'm able to get on my own. 
> 
> Thank you, each and every one of you, for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Research Mode: Engage! And then it's time to hit the road for Cali-forn-i-a!

None of the books Barry had taken with him mentioned anything about the bond being able to heal a human partner. There were a few chapters in one volume that touched on latent abilities in humans that were strengthened by becoming a vampire (or werewolf, or other creature or being of legend). Another book looked like it had promising information regarding the bond between human and vampire, but it was in Latin, and neither Barry nor Oliver knew enough to translate accurately.

"I think I know someone who can help," Oliver mused, tapping the small book against his knee. "Haven't talked to her in a while, but Felicity's one of the best when it comes to research. If she can't get us a good translation, she'll be able to find someone who can."

They spent two days in the lodge in Colorado, most of their time dedicated to researching and sleeping. Barry couldn't help his sleep schedule, getting a good day's rest whether he wanted to be asleep or not, but Oliver had to be argued with and wheedled into so much as taking a nap. Even when Barry caught him passing out on the book about Augmented humans (the word was always capitalized, whether it was in a section that was printed or hand-written in fancy script), Oliver at first refused to call it a night. Barry knew it was difficult for him to sleep much during the day, especially since he'd tasked himself with looking out for Barry while the vampire slept, but a few hours at night shouldn't have been a problem.

"Are you worried about the dreams?" Barry asked after wrestling a book away from him.

"No." Oliver's curt reply further proved how tired he was. Barry sighed and settled back against the bed. They were both on the floor, surrounded by a small pillow fort Barry had built while Oliver was getting something to eat a few hours ago. Oliver had offered some of the take-out to him, and then laughed at himself for the gesture, but Barry accepted a small portion, clearly surprising him. He could eat, he'd told Oliver around a mouthful of noodles, it just didn't sustain him the way it did Oliver.

"Just lay down for a little bit," Barry insisted. "I'll keep looking and take notes if I find anything. Not like the books are going anywhere."

"What if more vampires show up, looking to get back at Thawne, or after a piece of his land? I can't leave you-" Oliver bit back the rest of his words, but Barry could guess at what he was going to say. Unprotected, alone, defenseless.

"I kind of doubt anyone else that _may_ show up will have a Familiar," Barry tried to assure him, fighting back a smile. "So they'll just hover around the door and windows-"

"Until we leave. Or they'll burn the lodge down, forcing us out."

"Do you seriously think I can't defend myself?"

"I've personally seen you unable to defend yourself, yes."

"Okay, well, I was starving when we met, if you'll recall." Barry huffed and folded his arms in annoyance. "And I could so take you now, when I'm well-fed. Especially since you're so tired. I'll be fine, Ollie- please just take a nap. Half an hour, at least. …Let me watch over you for a change."

Oliver stared at him for more than a minute, something that could almost be called a pout tugging at his mouth. Finally he deflated a little, slouching with a full-body sigh. "Alright," he said through a yawn that he didn't even bother to stifle. "Wake me up in 30 minutes- not a minute later."

"Magic word," Barry sing-songed, grinning.

"Jesus. _Please_ wake me in 30 minutes. Asshole."

"Okay," Barry agreed, his tone chipper. "G'night. You dick."

His grin faded into a softer smile as he watched Oliver settle into the pillows on the floor. Barry was given a final glare, Oliver appearing more like a disgruntled cat than a mighty vampire killer, before he passed out. Thirty minutes too quickly became two hours and Barry startled when he stretched and looked at the clock. He hadn't intended to let Oliver sleep quite that long, but didn't feel bad about it, either. He'd been lulled into a comfortable kind of haze by Oliver's soft snores, reading and recording anything of interest in both the margins of the book and the gift shop notebook he'd purchased the previous evening. He marked the page he'd been looking over and shook Oliver awake.

Likely due to his years of training, Oliver woke instantly; alert for danger and rising to his knees with his hand on one of the knives he always kept on his person. He looked around the dimly lit room, eyes landing on Barry for a few seconds, assessing, and then moving to glare at the clock on the nightstand.

"I said-"

"I honestly lost track of time," Barry interrupted. "There were some really interesting passages about marriage bonds and your snoring is really cute. …I'm not taking that back. It's true."

"I don't snore," Oliver scoffed.

Barry grinned. "How do you know- you're asleep."

"None of my previous partners ever mentioned snoring."

Barry ignored the bite of jealousy at the thought of Oliver both working and sleeping with other people. He'd slept with a few (okay, a couple) people before Eobard abducted him, so he had no right to be even a little upset. And he reminded himself that he had no real claim on the Hunter; as much as it couldn't be broken, the bond certainly didn't have to be sexual in nature and most likely wouldn't be for them. Oliver could never be intimate with a vampire- it went against everything he'd been taught- no matter how much Barry wanted him.

"Then they were either too polite or didn't spend the night with you." His tone was petulant and Barry didn't care. He picked up the book he'd been reading and tossed the notebook to Oliver, more than happy for the distraction. "I wrote down the page numbers with the info on marriage bonds and those notes are the relevant parts."

They read and translated what they could until dawn, that last night in the lodge, discovering more than Barry thought they'd find about human and vampire interactions. He was sure Oliver was just as surprised at the accounts of peaceful, often amorous, relationships between their kinds. There were few details, as the book was a copy of material nearly 200 years old, and the writing style more prose than scientific. One aspect neither of them had realized was that, through the bond, the vampire was automatically invited wherever the human went. It explained how Barry was able to enter their motel rooms first, after Oliver had unlocked the door; the payment and key being Oliver's temporary ownership of the space. It was implied, though not explicitly stated, that if the human entered somewhere they weren't allowed or hadn't been invited, first, the vampire couldn't follow. It was kind of funny, Barry thought, the crossover with human law.

Probably because the books were written by vampires, most of the information pertained to them. But for all the stories of emotions shared, vampires finding and then rescuing their humans via their mental connection, there was no mention of the bond being able to heal. Barry lay sprawled across the pillow fort, eyes heavy from the approaching sunrise. He'd enjoyed reading the romantic accounts of the bonds, the poetry about epic, decades-long love, but he knew his bond wouldn't- couldn't- be like that. He had to content himself that he was with Oliver in any way, that they were quickly becoming friends, if they weren't already. He didn't want to think about the time limit that was on their relationship, either; the way so many bonds in the book had ended in heartbreak for the vampire when their human lover eventually died.

Barry made Oliver promise to get some sleep before they left that evening and he reluctantly agreed. The closer they got to the West Coast, the more Oliver had to drive, since they were losing time as they traveled. They always left well after sunset, but Oliver said he didn't want to take any chances, even with only an hour's difference ahead of them. Colorado was left behind and they stopped twice in Utah, the second time so Barry could visit Salt Lake City and see the Salt Lake, since they were so close anyway. He admitted that he hadn't traveled much when he was human, only driving (and flying, a few times) around Missouri for family vacations. Once he'd gotten his degree, he was focused on job-hunting and didn't have the time to go out and see the country. The trip back west, in a vehicle and with company, was so much better than the months he'd spent on the run.

The Jeep was traded in for a sturdy pickup truck with a window-less bed cover, though Oliver had to supplement cash, due to the damage Barry had done to the steering wheel in Kansas. The man at the dealership wasn't entirely convinced the Jeep hadn't been in an accident, but the rest of the vehicle checked out and he didn't seem able to figure out what had really happened. Barry felt the hand-shaped dents were a dead giveaway, that the salesman would realize what Barry was and report them both to some kind of Hunter police force. But they were simply given a puzzled expression and wished a pleasant trip on their way out of the lot.

Only one day was spent in Nevada, Oliver taking breaks and resting much more readily, even when Barry was driving. Barry had wanted to visit Vegas, but knew Oliver hadn't been home in at least a year and so didn't mention it. Not having a family anymore made him even more appreciative of the fact that Oliver still did. Barry drove into California, easily locating a nice-looking hotel in Sacramento for them to spend the day in. His increased time behind the wheel had turned his terrible driving into "not as bad" driving, Oliver remarked as they checked in. Oliver was also finding it easier to sleep when Barry did, though he told Barry he was usually up before noon. Barry was just happy his friend- he couldn't say when he'd started thinking of Oliver as such, but he liked the title too much to just stop- was finally getting more rest. And he felt even better when he realized that Oliver had begun to noticeably relax around him.

They got ready for bed together, brushing their teeth and cleaning up side-by-side in every cramped, motel and hotel bathroom since Colorado. Oliver didn't shave again, but whether it was because he didn't care to or didn't want to risk a repeat of the last time, Barry wasn't sure. He didn't entirely mind, though- Oliver with stubble was indescribably hot. The only problem with getting closer to Oliver was that Barry found it more difficult to keep his feelings, his attraction, to himself. Bad enough he'd already outright admitted it! He'd been without physical affection of any kind for more than five years and since he'd gotten close to someone again, he ached for any kind of touch. It was getting to the point where he considered just asking Oliver for a hug. He was sure he'd be happy if they just held hands again.

He dared to get closer a few times; brushing shoulders with Oliver when moving past him, letting their fingers touch when handing him something. Barry even tested the bond more often, sending mental feelers out to try to locate and follow Oliver when he left the room to fill a bucket with ice. He'd been working on strengthening their bond, hoping to be able to tell when Oliver was tired before he started yawning and slow-blinking, but he also had to be careful that he didn't let his ever-growing infatuation with his friend leak through. Calling Oliver "hot" was one thing- letting him know he was probably already in love with him would be too much.

Two hours after sunset, Oliver packed up his gear and Barry drained his last blood bag at the assurance that Oliver would find a way to get him a steady supply. They checked out together and shared the remains of Oliver's snacks while sitting in the truck bed, Barry's crate secured with rope and bungee cords behind them. Though he hadn't talked about his sister much, Barry could tell Oliver missed her (whether he had gotten that good at reading his friend or he sensed it through the bond, Barry didn't know). It was less than two hour's drive into Starling City from where they were. Oliver mentioned he'd called while Barry was sleeping; only letting Thea know he was bringing a guest. Barry tried not to sing _Beauty and the Beast's_ "Be Our Guest", but ended up humming it anyway.

"That's Thea's favorite," Oliver chuckled as he pulled onto the highway. "She's gonna love you."

Barry felt Oliver tense at the same time he did, both of them keeping their eyes on the road and not daring to look at each other. He considered he might be looking too deeply into the phrasing, but if Oliver had been even a little serious about Thea liking Barry, loving him, then there was hope that Oliver could, as well. And Oliver had said it so easily, casually, like it was already a fact! Barry had been worried about making a good impression with Oliver's little sister, so some of that burden had been lessoned. They remained quiet for the first hour, Barry fiddling with the radio until he found a classical music station- he hadn't gotten around to asking what kind of music Oliver liked. Or his favourite movie, food, or book; comic books only accounted for a portion of literature. There were a number of personal things he'd just forgotten to bring up.

The final 45 minutes or so (Barry wasn't watching the clock) were spent on another interrogation- that time, Barry remedied his lack of knowledge about the man he'd married a week ago. They had overlaps in music favourites, similar taste in films (when Oliver had had time to watch) and both of them laughed over their shared inability to understand Shakespeare. They drove through Starling City, leaving the bright lights and skyscrapers behind for a beautiful countryside. Barry grew quiet, taking in his surroundings and winding the window down enough to smell the salty air of the nearby ocean.

He knew the house- mansion, castle- when it loomed into view, not just because it was the only structure out there but because he'd seen so much of it from his dreams, Oliver's memories. Nervous butterflies filled his stomach and he was glad he'd drunk his last blood bag- he looked almost human and would, hopefully, not be attacked on sight. They pulled onto the long drive and looped around to park in front of the wide, main entry. Barry took and released a deep breath, swallowed, and squared his shoulders, waiting until Oliver got out of the truck before leaving, himself. He slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and grabbed the books that hadn't fit inside it, circling around the truck to stand behind Oliver.

Three women were waiting under the covered porch (was it still called a "porch" on a mansion?), watching them. Barry recognized Thea right away- she had the same dark, wavy hair he'd seen in his dreams, cut a little shorter and wearing the same guarded expression as Oliver. The other two could've been mistaken for twins at first glance, but standing side-by-side, there were obvious differences. One of them was slightly taller than the other, had darker blonde hair and smile lines around her mouth. And the other was a vampire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no- not another twist! :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry's To-Do List: 1. Meet the family- check. 2. Make a good impression- check? 
> 
> Oliver's To-Do List: 1. Don't have a meltdown due to new revelations- work in progress. 2. Re-evaluate his life and life choices- ...

"When you said you were bringing someone with you," Sara said, a smirk slowly stretching one side of her mouth. Oliver had missed that smile, but he didn't return it right away.

"I did leave out that he was a vampire, yes," he replied. "It's a long story, but Barry is… okay. He hasn't tried to hurt me and he won't attack any of you. I wouldn't trust just anyone around my family and friends."

"So he's something special, huh?" Thea was looking past Oliver, curiosity brightening her eyes and cracking her stoic mask. "Well this I have to hear."

Oliver sighed, shaking his head as he made his way inside, Barry close at his heels. He could actually feel the apprehension radiating off of him and didn't stop to think before sending calming thoughts back across the bond. Barry relaxed instantly with a soft sound of relief. Thea entered the house first, followed by Laurel and then Sara, who looked over her shoulder once she was inside to watch Barry cross the threshold last.

"You invite him in from the truck?" Sara asked, her expression unreadable.

"All part of the story. Let's go to the parlor and I'll- we'll tell you all everything."

"Of course there's a parlor," Barry mumbled. Oliver almost laughed at the chagrined tone of his voice. Introductions were made, and Barry didn't hesitate to reach out to shake Thea's hand. She looked from Oliver to Barry's hand a few times, finally shrugging and accepting the greeting with a smile. They moved through the foyer, down the main hallway and settled into chairs around the sitting room. A fire was already roaring in the ornate fireplace and Oliver took a seat furthest from it; it reminded him of Thawne's library, lost knowledge (no matter how trivial Barry insisted that knowledge was), and the torture Barry had been through. Barry sat right next him, their hips touching, and Oliver realized he'd gravitated to the small sofa without thinking. He didn't shift away or tell Barry to move, either- he didn’t want to. With a calming breath, Oliver gathered his thoughts. It was best to get everything out in the open and fill in the details, answer the many questions everyone would have, later.

"I was tracking Barry after I recovered enough to leave the hospital," Oliver began. "He was created by Thawne and I was lead to believe he was just as dangerous. But when I found him, Barry was starving, half-feral and obviously a new vampire. I thought I could use him, get information about other vampires, maybe get full access to Thawne's compound. I offered him a deal- his loyalty to me through a bond in exchange for his life."

He paused and looked over at Barry, still nearly flush against him, watching him as intently as Thea and the Lance sisters were observing them both. Oliver gave him a lopsided smile. "He agreed. But the only bond he knew about, the only one he'd ever made before, was a marriage bond."

"…Mazel tov?" Thea said incredulously, after a long pause.

"You can't be serious," Laurel chuckled. She stared at him for a moment, her eyes lowering to where Barry had taken his hand, linking their fingers, grounding him. "Well, shit."

"Explains how he was able to just waltz in," Sara mused. She was watching them like a predator and Oliver felt Barry squirm under the scrutiny.

"There's a lot more to it," Oliver insisted. He couldn't pinpoint when it had happened, but their connection had become much more than just an accidental bond.

"But maybe first somebody can tell me- tell us, I think- how and when Sara became a vampire."

Oliver turned to fix Barry with his own incredulous expression, but Barry was looking at Sara, his mouth a hard line, posture rigid. Sara's laughter drew Oliver's attention back to her and he started violently, holding tighter to Barry's hand and surging to his feet, his prosthetic reaching for a weapon automatically. Sara's features had contorted and changed into those of a vampire: the bat-like snout and ears; pale, greyish skin; and wide, shark-toothed grin.

"What-? How-! Laurel, when-? Thea, did you-"

"Finish a sentence, Ollie, Jesus," Laurel laughed, not the least bit anxious to be sitting next to a fully transformed vampire.

"How about you guys tell us your story and then I can share mine."

"I think I deserve to hear yours, first, Sara. I grew up with you- how is this possible? I left my sister alone with you for a year!"

"Okay. You grew up with _Laurel_ ," Sara started, her features shifting back to human. "We didn't meet until you'd started hunting on your own, six or seven years ago."

"But Laurel talked about her sister, about you, all the time."

"And when did she ever call me her sister."

Oliver felt Barry gently pull on his arm, trying to ease him back onto the sofa. He let himself be drawn to Barry's side, but couldn't relax yet, not with so many questions still unanswered. It felt so much like a betrayal, so similar to Slade, that Oliver wanted to scream and launch himself across the room. Maybe Barry felt that, was trying to calm him so he didn't act rashly. They didn't have all the information yet. The rational side of his brain was sounding more and more like Barry all the time.

Sara began by informing them she was actually Laurel's grandmother, on Laurel's father's side. And her story was alarmingly similar to Oliver's: she was a second-generation Hunter and had been after a vampire that killed her husband and one of her children. She'd run into another woman during the hunt and, after a few years and finally destroying the vampire she was after, fallen in love with her. Sara had assumed Nyssa was a Hunter, as well- she had greater skill than Sara with every weapon she used and moved almost supernaturally fast.

"I was in love," Sara laughed. "It was easy to make excuses. And she'd helped me, saved my life a few times. I even saved her, once."

They returned to Sara's town, collected her son, and moved across the country. Nyssa finally told her the truth- though she'd never lied about herself, Sara was quick to point out- when Sara told her that she loved her.

"I think I knew, always knew, but it's hard to remember, now. She'd given me an oath, after I killed an assassin her father sent after us. Like, a capitol "O" Oath, and I thought she was just that grateful, that she'd pledge herself to me 'for all time'. But hey, turns out we got hitched and I didn't even know it."

Oliver was tempted to shoot a sly, knowing look at Barry, but he was still trying to process everything he now knew about Sara. When Sara had "declared her love" to Nyssa, she was informed they were already married and Nyssa proceeded to tell her own tale. "That's for another day, though," Sara assured them.

It took several more years, when Sara's son was nearly an adult and out hunting vampires on his own, that Sara made the choice to join Nyssa. "I wasn't getting any younger and I didn't want her to live one second without me." They waited until Quentin came home and broke the news to him. He'd grown up with Nyssa, with the knowledge that all vampires weren't evil or monsters to be destroyed. He swore that he and his descendants would always look after her and Nyssa, that they'd continue to only hunt those vampires who did harm to humans and others.

"But you look so young- I mean, you had a kid who was old enough to hunt on his own…"

"Aw, you're adorable, Barry. I got married and had him pretty young- that was how we did it in the bad old days." Sara reclined sideways in her chair, crossing her legs at the ankles over the armrest. "Besides, I've had a very good diet over the years."

Barry shifted next to him and Oliver gave his hand a squeeze; he didn't even notice when they'd joined hands again. "I'll stick to donated blood, thanks."

"I figured that's what you'd been doing, what with Oliver's stubborn streak. And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you actually can't keep that up."

"Uh, yes I can. I'm not going to kill anyone- I don't even like-"

"Barry. Don't lie in front of your husband. You don't like killing, that's perfectly understandable. But I haven't met a vampire yet who didn't prefer fresh blood over refrigerated."

"I'm not going to kill anyone," Barry insisted.

"Listen. I'm not saying you just pluck people off the street. You can do what I've been doing- there are humans out there who are far worse than a lot of vampires. People who do… very bad things, let's leave it at that. In addition to having a network of very talented researchers to find those people, one of many skills you can develop is sniffing them out. It's remarkably easy to pick up the scent of violently-spilled blood on others- practically has its own aura. You'd be doing society, humanity, a favor."

"I-. I can't. I haven't killed anyone, but I do… I do like how, how fresh tastes." Barry ducked his head, but Oliver could feel his shame burning through the bond. "But I just can't kill someone! It's- I've sinned so much already. I _can't_."

"Then you're going to get sick and eventually waste away," Sara stated, matter-of-fact. "It takes a long time to die from undernourishment. It's like, putting a dog on a vegan diet. They'll eat it, they'll even be fine for a little bit. But there are key nutrients missing, and they can't be healthy or survive for very long. Cold blood, donated blood, is lacking those nutrients. Sooner or later, you'll go after someone. Make it your choice who and when."

They were all quiet for a while, the only sounds coming from the fireplace and the old grandfather clock. Oliver hadn't considered that Barry would ever need blood directly from a human; he'd been so content with the donated bags. But what Sara was saying made sense, even if he was still wary of her and her, admittedly perceived, deception. He thought about Slade and the kind of human Eobard had likely been. With visions of Barry as he was the day they'd met firmly in mind, Oliver took a deep breath and faced his husband.

"We'll do it together, like I've been saying all along. Sara makes a good point, but we'll look into it. See if there really are any alternatives. And if there aren't, I'll help you. I'll do it for you."

"Oliver, I-" Barry swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing frantically. "I can't ask you to do that- I can't _let_ you!"

"Then it's a good thing I'm not giving you the choice. I've seen you starving and I promised I wouldn't let that happen again. We'll get by as long as we can on the donated stuff, but when it's not enough, we'll find you something better, together."

He could tell by the set of Barry's jaw that the argument wasn't over, that Barry just didn't want to fight in front of strangers. He hoped he had enough time to convince Barry that his survival was important; find a way to present the situation in any kind of favourable light and get past the vampire's religious and moral protests, before it was too late or Barry started to get sick.

"That was intense," Laurel chuckled, a nervous edge to the sound. "How about you lighten the mood a little, Ollie, and tell us about this?" She gestured to where Barry still held tight to his hand.

It was far easier to talk about everything he and Barry had been through with family than listening to it recounted, with omissions, to Mick and Len. They took turns, at first, Barry haltingly summarizing what had happened to him, and Oliver stepping in with his discovery of Slade. The room was quiet again for several minutes after that. The Lances wore twin expressions of sympathy for Barry. Thea was on the edge of her seat, looking furious and as though she might leave, at first. Oliver had never been happier that she hadn't spent nearly as much time with their former trainer as he had.

As the story progressed, Oliver traded every few sentences, wanting to hear Barry's view of things. They worked through the return to Thawne's nest, the drive across the country and discovering the speed and strength of the bond, as well as Barry's uncanny healing ability. Sara had perked up and laughed several times as they talked about the bond, how it had been introduced, and Oliver fought off a much larger smile at the pretty blush the tinted Barry's pale cheeks. Oliver finished with leaving Sacramento, but Barry continued, marveling over the drive through Starling City and the countryside that surrounded Oliver and Thea's home.

Sara wanted to know more about Thawne's library, the contents of it, and Oliver decided the best way to start trusting her again was to let Barry give her the inconsequential details. He gave Barry's hand a reassuring squeeze and left him in the parlor with the Lances, following Thea out into the hallway. He didn't want to go too far, finding it difficult to leave Barry for very long. It seemed a lot of things had been happening between him and Barry without Oliver realizing them, though he wasn't bothered by any of them. Barry managed to make so many situations seem better than they were; and Oliver fully intended to return that favour when it came time for a different kind of hunt than he'd been trained for.

He caught Thea looking at him as he'd been staring at the sitting room door. She shook her head and laughed, punching him in the arm. She'd definitely been training- Oliver resisted the urge to rub the sore spot left behind. "Really missed you, Ollie."

"Missed you, too," he said, quietly and private, just for her to hear. Thea grinned and wrapped him up in a hug. Oliver hissed and flinched involuntarily, quickly holding on to her so she didn't move away.

"Sorry," he chuckled, embarrassed. "I haven't touched anyone warm in… a while. Kind of a shock."

"Yeah?" Thea hugged him tighter, resting her head on his chest and following his glance down the hall. "What _have_ you and that husband of yours been up to, out on the lonely road?"

Oliver groaned. "First of all: nothing. And even if something had happened, I wouldn't talk about it with my baby sister."

"And I'd stop you if you tried. Gross." She sighed and gave him another squeeze. "I get it, though. I can see it- the way he looks at you and especially how you look at him. It's sweet; he seems sweet."

She let him go and Oliver dropped his arms to his sides. He considered denying it, brushing off Thea's comments with a joke or just dismissing them entirely. But she'd always been able to tell when he was hiding something, or the few times he'd tried to lie to her. Oliver sighed and ran his hand through his hair, noticing just how long it had gotten. Even if she was right, even if there was a certain way he looked at Barry (oh, there was. There really was), he couldn't admit to it out loud, yet. So he gave her a smile and what he hoped was a noncommittal shrug.

A topic change was definitely in order. "Laurel and Sara have been working you pretty hard, I see."

"Smooth." Thea rolled her eyes, laughing. "Not as hard as you think. There's been some down time. And don't gimme that look- I've never had to train as hard as you and you know it. Mom and Dad focused on you because you're the oldest, the one who'd 'carry on the family name'." She said it fondly, but with an edge of sarcasm, almost mocking.

"You're just as good at this as I am-"

"Not saying I'm not. Just that you were always first, worked the hardest, expected to be the best. I got more free time and, honestly? I'm grateful for that." She turned away, glancing everywhere but him. A few steps brought her closer to a portrait of their parents, hanging a little crooked above a small table, and she reached out a finger to straighten it.

"I miss them, I'll always miss them. But… It's like I have a chance, now. To live my own life- and you do, too! They weren't- I just think they didn't know, that they'd been doing it for so long that they didn't think things could be any different. But they could've, Ollie. _We_ can be different."

"I don't follow."

"Yes, you do. We don’t have to be the same kind of Hunters anymore. We never really did. I mean-" Thea threw her arms up and started pacing, marching back and forth in front of him. "Just look at Barry! At Sara! I've spent a year with her and Laurel and they told me like, the first week about it, Sara's being a vampire. And she's a good person! She's done so many good things!"

"There are some really nasty ones out there, Thea," Oliver started, but was cut off by Thea's bark of laughter.

"You sound just like Dad- same 'lecture voice' and everything! Of _course_ there are bad vampires! Just like there are bad humans. Why does it have to be on us to decide: to be judge, jury, and executioner? I'm not saying we let the bad ones do whatever they want, that we just step aside. I'm saying we need to take a much closer look, reevaluate the things we've been told our entire lives."

"You get all that from Sara?"

Thea stopped in front of the portrait again, hunching her shoulders and holding onto her elbows. "Some of it. Most of it, well… You're not the only one who was out making new friends."

"…Thea." He leveled her with a hard, brotherly stare. "Are you hanging out with-"

"Wow, _such_ a hypocrite! Jesus, Ollie, just say the word!" She spun around to glare at him.

"My situation was an accident," Oliver stated, only somewhat sheepishly.

"Not that it's your business or would matter at all, but no, I'm not seeing a vampire or vampires." Thea sniffed and added, "It's a vampire rights group. And I met a really great guy there. If you ever stop being a dick, you can meet Roy sometime."

"Well that's not happening!" Barry laughed, slinging an arm over Oliver's shoulders. Oliver tried to glare at him, but the sunny smile Barry was giving him warmed over his irritation at the comment.

"Now I _know_ you guys are serious- you didn't even get the Queen Stare of Death!"

"I got it plenty when we first met- I think I exhausted his powers."

Barry- and Oliver, if he was being honest- wanted to know more about Thea's group, so they moved back into the parlor and wound up talking until close to sunrise. They'd left Barry's crate in the truck and Sara brushed Oliver aside to retrieve it, citing that it had to weigh nearly 300 pounds and he wouldn’t be able to carry it on his own. He should've been mad that Sara assumed he and Barry would stay in the same room, watching from the doorway of his childhood bedroom as she and Barry shoved Oliver's clothes to either side of his closet.

"It's like I'm getting my own room!" Barry had marveled, standing inside and turning a slow circle. Oliver just shook his head and smiled. He closed the curtains, plunging the room into inky twilight, and pretended not to notice that Barry grabbed one of Oliver's sweatshirts off the floor and took it with him into his box. He waited until Sara left and then leaned over the edge, watching Barry wiggle his shoulders into the earth.

"We'll get a bed ready, your own room, for tomorrow," Oliver promised, reaching out for Barry's hand and sighing at the familiar, soothing contact. "You won't have to sleep in this box ever again."

"Don't want my own room," Barry yawned. He squeezed Oliver's hand and pulled him closer with a gentle tug. "M'gonna stay with you."

Oliver breathed out a laugh. "Okay. If that's what you want. But this thing's going into storage once you wake up tonight." He brushed his prosthetic through Barry's hair, then slipped his hand free of Barry's to finally feel those chestnut locks under his fingers. It was even softer than it had looked and Oliver smiled softly at the sensation.

"I meant it," he whispered. "Every time I said it, it was true: we're going to figure this all out together."

"G'night, Ollie." Barry's voice was raspy with sleep, but he was awake enough to sit up on an elbow and press a kiss to Oliver's lips. A second later, when Oliver thought to return the gesture, Barry slipped back into the box, a smile on his face that looked like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie to you guys- the story originally ended here. Maybe I should've left it alone, open to whatever interpretation the reader wanted.  
> But I didn't.
> 
> I'm not a phlebotomist, nor do I have more than a passing knowledge about blood. I did a little research on how long refrigerated blood was good for after donation, but that's about it. So the info Sara imparts about cold blood is one part handwave-y science and one part "it's magic!" :)
> 
> Also, this is my first time writing for Thea, Laurel, and Sara (unless you count the phone call a few chapters back. Then this is the first time I've written Sara at length). I hope they read even a little close to their canon characters, despite this being an AU.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time skip! Barry and Oliver's first hunt together doesn't go exactly as planned...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: This chapter is fairly violent, though I don't think I got too graphic.**
> 
> People are killed and there are multiple mentions of blood (it _is_ a vampire fic).

_Three Years Later_

"I have him in my sights- Barry, are you in position?" Oliver spoke quietly into the cool, night air, trusting that the tiny communications devices Felicity's friend Ray had made them would pick up the sound. He heard rustling and a burst of static, then a soft groan. "Barry? You okay?"

"…Yeah. Sorry. I just… I dunno if I'm really ready for this."

"Kinda late to get cold feet," Oliver sighed. "I told you, I'm taking care of the hard part, all you have to do is eat. And we did our research on this guy, remember? He's a real piece of work, nastiest human trafficker and drug runner on the West Coast. We take him and his associates down, and the empire will crumble. Countless lives will be saved."

Barry sighed, the sound carrying through as though he were right next to Oliver. A quiet prayer was uttered, Barry's words rushed but no less heartfelt for their speed. He'd lost count of how many times they'd talked about Barry getting fresh blood the past several months; the young vampire had been getting progressively sicker, his strength dwindling even after consuming eight pints of cold blood over the course of a couple days. Oliver had felt his pain and weakness through the Bond, which was the final argument that spurred Barry to finally taking Sara's advice. From there, Oliver had called in favors from other Hunter clans, collecting data on local criminals, the worst ones they could find. It was distressingly easy to locate so many.

The only good thing about Barry being so weak was that he didn't have much strength to fight Oliver going with him and doing the actual killing. They argued for hours after receiving the information, Barry lying on his earth that Oliver had spread over their bed, resting as much as he could. Oliver was at his side, in a chair he'd dragged close, too afraid of making Barry sick if he sat on the bed with him. He would do it from a distance; he wouldn't get blood on his hands, at least not literally. "I've done this before," Oliver had reminded him quietly, holding Barry's hand with his prosthetic and smoothing his own hand through Barry's sweat-damp hair. Killing a human, especially any of the ones on the list they'd complied, could only be easier than taking down a vampire.

Felicity had delivered the current target only a few days previous, Oliver and Sara working together to set up the entire sting operation. She and Laurel had moved in a few weeks after Barry had started getting sick; Sara to help restrain him if Barry's bloodlust was stronger than the Bond (it hadn't been) and Laurel for additional moral support. Oliver wished he'd had more time to cover contingencies, but it was actually much easier than tracking a vampire, since there were people to interrogate instead of mainly following a trail. Barry had insisted he wear some kind of disguise, so that no one would trace their activities back to the remaining Queens, and Oliver had readily agreed- he'd have given Barry just about anything to hurry his recovery. At Oliver's insistence, Thea and Sara had drawn a few pints of his blood; enough to give Barry the strength to get out of bed and, later on, feed on his own.

"Are you ready?" Oliver asked again, notching his arrow and drawing back the string with his brand new, high-tech prosthetic hand.

Barry grunted, panted, and finally responded, "Yeah. Let's… yeah."

"Okay, count down with me. Three, two, one-!" Oliver took the shot on the final number, the arrow barely making a sound as it flew through the air and found its new home in their target's chest. Oliver was too far away to hear anything from the man he'd shot, but the strangled, hungry noise and rush of air that came through the comms told him Barry was moving. The young vampire came into view and stood over the dying man, Barry's posture so stiff he was almost vibrating. Oliver heard another, slower prayer muttered and then Barry transformed and fell on the man.

He'd never witnessed a vampire feeding before, usually getting to them before they could attack another person, but he'd been with Barry more than three years and he'd seen what Eobard- and Slade- had done to their victims (and witnessed Eobard's actions through his dreams of Barry's memories). The man Barry was tearing apart had either been dead when the vampire started, or close enough that he never felt a thing, but it was the goriest spectacle Oliver had ever seen. He didn't look away, though- he owed his husband the support, even from a distance. Barry had begged him not to come down until he'd calmed from his blood lust, but Oliver slipped off the warehouse roof carefully, falling to the ground with barely a sound. Barry never looked up from his grisly feast.

They hadn't discussed how long it would take, only that Barry would be vulnerable, his attention laser-focused on the human he fed from. Oliver crept closer, his eyes on Barry and clock ticking down in his head to the earliest they could expect someone to come looking for their boss. If he'd had more time to plan, to study the layout of the wharf and learn the schedules of the other people involved, and if he hadn't given blood an hour or so previous, Oliver might have been ready for the man who turned the corner twenty seconds too early. He turned, reaching for his own gun even as the other man raised his. _Too slow, not ready, damnit-!_ His hand found a knife first and he threw it as the man pulled the trigger of his firearm, the blade finding his attacker's chest, just shy of his heart.

As he stumbled back from the force of the bullet entering his midsection, Oliver regretted that the last thing he'd sent through the Bond was a swearword.

* * *

Barry didn't think he'd ever felt so alive, so light and free. It was like escaping from Eobard and finding out his Maker was dead and the first time he'd told Oliver he loved him all rolled into a warm, full feeling in his stomach. It spread out and filled his limbs, made his heart beat like it did when he was human and lit up the surrounding night like midday. In that moment, he didn't even care that he'd taken a life, ripped a man apart with his bare hands. He'd been sick for so long, for what felt like much longer than a couple years; he was giddy with the input from his newly-renewed and heightened senses. Oliver had been right and Barry would likely never hear the end of it (and he didn't mind at all).

He hadn't wanted to feed from Oliver even indirectly, but his failing body won out over his mind's protests when Sara presented the still-hot blood from his husband earlier that evening. It had been the sweetest, most wonderful thing he'd ever tasted. Barry had forgotten what fresh blood was like and the memory, the flavour of Oliver on his tongue, had given him that final push to drink from their target. Sara had been right about everything, but Barry was still surprised the moment he was able to detect the other numerous, distinct blood scents that lingered on the man he'd literally torn to pieces. He waited for nausea to set in, for his stomach to churn or reject his meal, but he felt only satisfaction. He was certain guilt would creep in before too long; the knowledge that he had finally taken a life (and would take more- he had tasted too much, felt too good, to stop) would weigh on him before the night was over.

A sound off to the left, near a side entrance to the closest warehouse, brought his head up, moving faster than he'd ever been able to before. He had heard that sound before, on the firing range as Oliver taught him how to shoot, when he first started to get sick on donated blood: a silencer. It could've been Oliver, but as soon as he thought of his lover, opening the Bond to find him, thoughts and pain and sorrow slammed into him. He fell away from the remains of the human trafficker, gasping and clawing at his side. He was shot! No.

Oliver had been shot.

He launched himself towards the sound, grabbing the man standing there by the back of his neck and snapping it easily, without another thought. Obstacle removed, Barry hovered over Oliver's still-slumping body, his own thoughts blending with Oliver's, his husband's pain seeping through the Bond as the blood from his wound blossomed on his jacket. _At least your mask is still on_ , Barry thought, dazed, a hand pressed to his own side in sympathetic pain as he knelt in front of Oliver.

_Funny. That's funny. You okay?_

A laugh startled out of Barry, and he had to slap his free hand over his mouth to keep it from getting hysterical. With an effort, he pulled the hand on his side away and applied pressure to the tiny hole near Oliver's stomach. There was already so much blood, how could he have lost so much in so little time?

"I'm fine," Barry whispered, terrified to speak any louder, lest his words steal Oliver's last breaths.

_Me too. Just gotta get patched up, be good as new._

Barry shook his head and pressed a little harder on the wound, scared to apply too much pressure and also that he wasn't using enough. "I can't- move you. I don't know what its hit. It looks close range- did it-" He shifted his weight to one side and carefully felt the wall behind Oliver. Nothing was embedded there; the bullet was still inside him.

_Closest hospital's… five miles? Seven. Can't remember right now._

"Hey, shh, it's okay," Barry sat on the pavement beside Oliver, smoothing his free hand over a shoulder. "You're gonna be fine. I'll… find someone. I'll get help. Is- damnit, why didn't we have Thea and Roy listen in? Or Sara and Laurel? You were supposed to wait for me out there!" _Why do you have to be so stubborn?_

_Wanted to help you. Do this for you. I love-_

"Don't! Don't you dare say it now!" Barry put his hand over Oliver's mouth, despite that he hadn't said a word, using only his thoughts through the Bond, so clearly for the first time. "I can run home- I can make it in, I dunno, ten minutes, maybe fifteen? You can just-"

_There'll be more of them. Can't stay here, either of us._

"I'm not leaving you!" Barry leaned close, only pulling back on his hand when Oliver hissed and pain flared like a super nova through the Bond. "I won't leave you here and you're not- you won't die."

_Right. You're right. I won't. Don't have to die._

"What? Ollie, what are you-?" Barry knew what he was thinking, the intent coming through before his words, but he still asked, stupidly stalling for time they didn't have and a rescue that wasn't coming.

_Save me, Barry. Make me like you._

"No!" Barry almost recoiled, the suggestion was so repellant, but he held firm at Oliver's side. "God, no, I couldn't! Oliver, there has to be-. Lord forgive me, there's gotta be another way!"

_I'm all… ears._

His mind raced, going over the entire evening, all of Oliver's plans, the list of people closest to them, but it wasn't enough. Nothing in any of Oliver or Sara's contingencies covered getting shot by a surprise goon, or shot at all! Barry sobbed, pressing his forehead against Oliver's. "Please. Please hold on just, just a little longer."

_You're a good man, Barry. Sara's… a good woman. I can be… good. Too._

"You don't know what you're saying, what you're asking! God _damnit_ , Oliver Queen, I won't do that to you! I won't have you trapped in this Hell-!"

_Be with you forever. Bonded for…  a lot longer than a… a human lifespan. Doesn't sound like… hell to me._

"Please," Barry begged, voice hoarse and little more than a whimper. "Ollie, no."

_Love you, Bear. Save me. I saved you, once. Owe me this._

Barry sat back on his heels with an outraged hiss. "How _dare_ you! How can you even-! _Damn_ you, Oliver!"

_No. Save me. You'll… save me. You're a… good man. Love you…_

Another, much louder sob tore free from within Barry's chest, but he didn't care who heard him. He could feel Oliver slipping away as surely as he watched his skin pale and more blood stain his shirt and jacket… and Barry's hand. There wasn't any time left to debate, to argue. Oliver _had_ saved him, more than once, really, so he was right in saying that Barry owed him. He would be in Oliver's debt for the rest of his life. And, hopefully, the rest of Oliver's.

He ripped open Oliver's jacket, the leather parting like tissue paper in his taloned hands. The blood-soaked shirt was peeled away more carefully. Barry allowed himself precious seconds to send another prayer, promising anything God would ever ask in return- anything but Oliver- if he could be forgiven the terrible sin he was about to commit. He leaned close and suctioned his mouth to Oliver's wound, encouraging the blood to flow so freely, it leaked out the sides of his lips. Oliver moaned, his hand landing weakly on the back of Barry's head.

_Love you. Love you…_

_Shut up, Ollie. Save your strength- I'm not done yet._

It was much easier to pull away on a full stomach; Barry wiped the back of a hand across his mouth as he sat up, spit out the bullet he'd sucked free, and then bit the insides of his mouth, hard. Oliver winced, picking up the sensation through the Bond. _Good. The rest of this won't be pleasant, either_ , Barry thought spitefully. He tucked a hand behind Oliver's head and helped him to sit up. When his husband's head stopped lolling on his shoulders, Barry kissed him almost as hard as he'd bitten himself. _No matter what you feel, just drink. I'll stop you when you've had enough._

Oliver's mouth worked sluggishly at first, more blood slipping out through the seal of their mouths than he could swallow. Barry pulled him tighter, tilting his head to lock their lips together and create a better barrier. A second, two seconds later, Oliver started to drink. Barry didn't let him grimace at the taste, instead forcing down his anger and fear and sending the most calming sensations and thoughts he could muster through the Bond. Where it had once seemed like a tiny strand of spider silk, now their Bond was a thick, steel cable; Barry had liked to imagine it being as big around as Oliver's arms and held back a smile so that more blood wouldn't seep free.

He placed a hand on Oliver's throat, helping him to swallow until he did so on his own, each time the action growing stronger. He felt the Bond grow, as well as Oliver's heartbeat. Barry let Oliver drink more than he needed; rationalizing that the wounds in his mouth were smaller and there was a perfectly good meal behind them with which he could refuel. The sound of hurried footsteps and muffled shouts made him pull back, holding Oliver in place when his husband tried to follow the kiss, the taste of his blood. Barry bent over and, with the wounds in his mouth still sluggishly leaking, kissed and licked the bullet hole in Oliver's side. He couldn't wait for it to fully heal- people, humans, were approaching fast. Barry drank what he could from the man Oliver had stabbed and Barry had finished off, replenishing only a fraction of what he'd given away.

Oliver had passed out, but his breathing was steady and strong as Barry hoisted him up in a bridal carry and ran. He hoped the knife and arrow wouldn't be traced back to them, as he had no time that night to go back for them. They'd just have to be better prepared next time. They would be.

_Though now we'll be hunting for two…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was never going to write Barry getting or being sick in any kind of detail- it was something I knew had to happen in this story, but that I couldn't actually talk about at length. Reminds me too much of when my dad was sick, before he died. Hell, writing most of this chapter was damn difficult!
> 
> I'm not at all opposed to anyone else writing those previous three years, though! In fact, I wholeheartedly encourage anyone who wants to to write about anything I skipped or missed. Please feel free to explore this universe in any way you see fit!
> 
> One more chapter to go! Thank you so much to every single reader!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But they're not out of the woods, yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank everyone who's been reading enough for sticking with this! What started as a handful of chapters for my dear friend [Blue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_wonderer/pseuds/blue_wonderer) has turned into a 13 chapter... something. You readers are amazing and have kept me posting. Thank you all!

Thea was furious. She'd apparently been pissed the entire day Oliver was unconscious (undergoing the change from human to vampire), Barry and Sara just managing to keep her from beating him up while he was in his coma. That was the best way Sara was able to describe it; since nothing anyone did around him- the shouting and attempts at hitting him- so much as registered in his dreams. Dreams he wouldn't be having anymore, unless he and Barry would just swap memories while they slept.

When he finally woke up and got away from Thea- sporting two black eyes and a sore jaw that didn't heal as quickly as he'd thought they would- the first thing Barry had him do was go outside and dig a hole, gathering dirt from the rear lawn. It was the only thing Barry would talk about; his cool, distant demeanor was more than a little upsetting, but Oliver deserved it. He'd gotten himself gravely injured and then begged his husband to do the one thing Barry had never wanted to do. Right after practically forcing him out to participate in killing someone, no matter how much better off Barry (and the rest of the world) would be for it.

He supposed, as he heaved another shovelful of earth up and over his shoulder, that he should try the donated blood they still had, in the kitchen in a dedicated fridge. Thea was tolerant of many things, but blood and food stored in the same space was where she drew the line. Barry was already angry with and probably disappointed in him enough for the next few decades, so Oliver wouldn't dare bring up hunting again so soon. Barry had been healthy on donated blood for nearly a year- Oliver could do the same.

Oliver remembered only fragments of the moments before he started drinking from Barry, before the 24-hour coma, but he swore he could still taste Barry's blood in his mouth, on the back of his tongue. He could certainly smell it, as well as Thea, Laurel and Sara; though Barry's and Sara's blood smelled the best. He wanted to ask Barry why another vampire would be more appealing than a human, but his husband needed time to calm down. It felt like more than 48 hours since he last touched Barry, though; Barry had been weak and sick for so long, they did little more than hold hands and exchange soft, sweet kisses. But when Barry had been well, over a year ago- god, how they'd embraced… and done so much more.

Oliver hauled himself out of the hole and blew his nose on a handkerchief, grimacing at all the dirt that had clogged his nostrils. It had also kept him from noticing Barry standing a couple feet away- he'd put a mental clamp on the Bond, somehow, letting only the strongest of emotions leak past. Which for Barry had been mostly anger, resentment, and a bone-deep sorrow. Oliver had tried to send apologies through, and when that failed to move Barry, he attempted the love that had grown so vast, he still couldn't find words to express it. Barry had stopped him right away, letting him know he needed time and that Oliver should try to keep as much to himself as possible. He wondered if Barry felt as carved out and hollow as he did, after so long sharing through their Bond. It was worse than when he'd lost his hand; a much larger, more important limb had been numbed.

There were so many things he wanted to ask Barry, to talk and learn about his new life. He remembered the few details Barry had supplied when they met; the research he'd done and talked to Sara regarding what things were like, during the first several years of a vampire's existence. But he wanted to hear about it from _Barry_ , first-hand. The memories were still painful- it would take a lot more time for both of them to heal from their pasts- but the new abilities Oliver had must have been exciting for Barry at some point. His sight and hearing were amplified almost to the point of being painful and it was only his years of meditation and fighting through physical injuries that let him cope. He was faster, though not as quick as he'd seen both Sara and Barry move, and he knew he was physically much stronger, as well. He wanted to race Thea again, see the look on her face when he finally beat her. He wanted to race Barry, catch him and pin him to the ground…

"You don't need that much," Barry muttered, gesturing at the pile of dirt to one side of the hole. It was as tall as Oliver when he moved to stand next to it.

"I figured, better safe than sorry." Oliver shrugged, smiling. It wasn't the most Barry had said to him in two days, but it was unprompted and they were alone. It was something.

"Got you a wheelbarrow." Barry pointed to the only one in the sprawling backyard as though Oliver hadn't noticed it when he'd climbed up. It was bigger than any he'd seen before, but in order to cover Oliver's king-sized bed in as few trips as possible, it had to be. Oliver was suddenly thankful for his vampire strength, and the opportunity to use it. He stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket and gave his husband a warm smile.

"Thanks. Barry, I-"

"Not yet. I'm-. I'm still not ready."

Oliver was counting the minutes that Barry didn't speak to him, the hours they went without so much as bumping shoulders in the rare instances they passed by each other. Years ago, by Barry's second day at Queen Manor, he was sleeping in Oliver's bed, a layer of earth spread over the sheets on one side. Oliver would often nap with him, on the clean side of the bed, but always found they drifted together, finding each other even as they slept. Kisses good morning and evening were soon followed by sex at night and Oliver just as quickly found the sensation of sleeping (and making love) on a fine layer dirt to be as normal and comfortable as any time he'd spent without it.

But after Oliver woke up from his vampire coma, Barry gathered the sheets with his dirt on them off the bed and had pulled his box out of storage, moving down the hall to a guest room. When asked by Thea what he thought he was doing, he'd just said that Oliver would need the space. Thea had laughed with Oliver at that- he and Barry hadn't spent more than a few minutes apart since the first night they'd arrived together at Oliver and Thea's home. But Barry had just slung the bundle of sheets over his shoulder and walked across the hall without another word. Oliver knew things were bad when Thea didn't elbow him for staring at Barry's ass.

That first morning was one of the worst of Oliver's life- easily on the top ten list. The windows in his room had been sealed a couple weeks after he'd brought Barry home for the first time, Oliver's room kept in a perpetual state of night. He had his own dirt spread over the bed, nearly two inches thick, an hour before sunrise; already lethargic and unable to focus on anything for longer than a minute or two. But he sat up for as long as he could, eyes on the doorway into his room, hoping Barry would bring his crate back over or fill his pockets with his own earth and sleep with Oliver on the bed.

He woke up alone in the dark, panicking and snorting dirt out of his nose. He wondered how long it would take to get used to sleeping in so much earth, how long it had taken Barry to adapt, and inside a cramped box, no less. He almost asked, stretching mental and physical fingers towards the Bond to talk to him, feel him, but remembered that Barry was still upset, still hurt. Oliver hadn't felt so isolated and alone since he'd killed Slade.

He brushed as much dirt off his clothes as he could, then just decided to shower and change. He would sleep naked from then on- it would be easier. Laurel was in the kitchen, making dinner for her and Thea, when Oliver went downstairs, fresh from the shower but not feeling any better for it. He took a blood bag from the smaller fridge, hesitated, and then grabbed four more. He set them on the kitchen table and eyed the microwave for a little too long, causing Laurel to laugh and shake the tongs she'd been using at him.

"No way. You put that stuff in there, you better get a new microwave for the rest of us."

"Destroys even more of the little that's good in it, too," Sara added as she came around the other entry, mirroring Oliver with her own towel around her shoulders, her hair up and still damp from showering.

"Don't you two have your own house to get back to," he groused.

"Not until we're sure you're settled in. Should be Barry's job, but he told us what happened."

"It's not like I got myself shot on purpose," Oliver muttered. He turned a bag around in his hands a few times before finally tearing off a top corner. It smelled alright, not as good as Barry and Sara, or Laurel and Thea, but it would do. For as long as his body could use it or when Barry deigned to let them hunt again. It would be his husband's call, no matter how Oliver felt about it.

"When you go out again, you'll have a better plan. You and Barry both will be better fed and thinking clearly." Sara sat down at the table, leaning back and putting her feet on the opposite corner at which Oliver sat. She sent him a sympathetic look, adding quietly, "He'll come around. Just give him some time."

"I miss him." Oliver didn't care how small and lost he sounded. He took a long pull from the bag, swallowing heavily, the blood cold and clinging to the inside of his mouth, coating his tongue with a dull, metallic aftertaste. That Barry had forced himself to live on that for so long made Oliver both furious and his heart ache.

Barry hovered in the entry Oliver had used; he sensed the young- the older, now- vampire there, but didn't so much as turn his head to look. It would be too painful, seeing that downtrodden expression still on Barry's sweet face. And had he always smelled so good? Oliver tried to keep Barry's scent in his nose as he drank another bag, but it barely altered the taste. He drank another two bags for something to do, to ease the parched feeling in the back of his mouth, and it started to taste a little better. Minutes passed, the entire kitchen feeling too small and tense for three vampires and one human.

"I miss you, too," Barry said at last, voice thick. He stayed in the doorway, but Oliver finally turned around, wanting desperately to see (touch, smell, make love to) Barry in any state again. His eyes were red-rimmed and dark circles were painted underneath, making him look gaunt, despite his recent feeding- his sagging shoulders and wrinkled clothing only adding to the image.

Oliver was standing before he knew it, crossing the kitchen in quick strides only to stop just an arm's reach away from his husband. "I'm sorry-"

Barry laughed, soft and sadly, holding up a hand. "No you're not. You never lied to me before, don't start now."

"I'm not," Oliver admitted. He didn't know what to say- an apology had felt right. It was what Barry had always done, even though what he apologized for had never been his fault. "I don't know what else to say, other than 'I miss you'. I miss you and love you and today was the loneliest day of my life because you weren't there."

"…You used me, Oliver."

He reeled back as though he'd been hit, his hand coming up to clutch at his heart, baffled as he demanded, "Why would you- what could possibly make you think that!"

"You got close to me, made me fall in love with you. Made me think you loved me, too."

"Damnit, Barry, I _do_ love you! I've loved you for years- you know that!" When Barry didn't move closer (but also didn't leave- a good sign!), Oliver sighed and pulled at his own hair.

"Okay, yes- that first night, I was using the Bond to get information, before I really knew what it meant, what it was. But by the time we were on our way to Central, I knew I couldn't hurt you. I knew… Shit. You _know_ I love you- you've _felt_ it! When we were in Keystone that morning- no. When I watched you burn Thawne's library, I knew I had to do everything in my power to protect you." Oliver took a step backwards, another, heavier sigh shaking his entire body.

"And I failed. I didn't protect your heart. And if we weren't Bonded- _Bonded_ \- Married, and if I didn't love you so fucking much, I'd leave and never hurt you again."

"Why did you really do it? Why did you force me to re-Make you?"

Oliver answered immediately, "Because I didn't want you to lose anyone else you love. Because I couldn't put you through the pain of surviving a severed Bond. Because I was going to ask you to do it anyway. Oh, not anytime soon," Oliver waved a hand, forcing a laugh when all he wanted to do was cry.

"A decade, maybe two. Once Thea had built her own life, settled down or found a calling that's right for her. It would've been on _our_ terms, in _our own_ time. …There's no way I could've planned this- saw it coming, not in the time we had." He looked away from Barry, from the wounded expression he still wore.

"I should've listened to you," Oliver whispered. "I should have stayed on that rooftop. But I wanted to see you, I wanted to… I guess, be a part of it, be that much closer to you."

"Reckless." Barry's voice was just as quiet, the word almost forced out of him. "Dangerous. …I could've handled it- one other guy, one gun. Do you know, Oliver? Do you really know what this has cost me? The weight I have to carry-?"

"You saved my life! How is that a weight- a bad thing? You're not evil Barry- how many times do we have to have this conversation!"

"Sounds like a fight to me," Laurel muttered. Sara immediately shushed her.

"I'll never make up for what I am," Barry replied through clenched teeth. His hands shook at his sides, balled into tight fists. "I know it wasn’t my fault, but it happened to me anyway. I'm still here- I decided to live with this-"

"And I'm _glad_ you did! I'm glad- _ecstatic!_ \- that we met, despite the things that happened to get us here!"

"So if you could have your parents back, but never meet me, you'd still let them die?"

"Damnit Barry, that's not-. You can't just throw a hypothetical like that at me."

"'Cause if I could save my parents, I would."

Oliver stared at him, his mouth working for something to say, but his mind was completely blank. He swallowed once, twice, absently tasting bitter copper. "Do you mean that."

"Two lives… They're my parents. If I could save them, shouldn't I? And you'd live- you'd still be… human."

"You'd give this up- knowing about me, us, the man you've helped me become? Damnit, this is stupid!" Oliver threw his arms up and out, demanding, "Do you actually know a way to go back in time, Barry? Do you? Because if you do, if we're going to use it, then let's go! Let's save the whole fucking world!"

"Tell me you wouldn't save your parents, that you wouldn't stop Slade."

"I wouldn't," Oliver snarled. "And I don't have to. We are not fighting about could-have-beens, here." He dropped his head into his hand. "I screwed up in leaving my cover. I should have waited for you. But I didn't wait, and here we are. And I intend to spend the rest of our lives making everything up to you. When you'll let me… If you'll let me."

"I am so, so sorry that I hurt you. That's true, you can open the Bond and see, feel it for yourself. But you're right- I'm _not_ sorry that I forced your hand on this. Forced your fangs. For as long as you'll have me, I will never leave you and I will spend the _rest of our lives_ proving that and making up for the pain this has-" he gestured at himself, at the kitchen table with the half-drained bags of blood, "and I've caused you."

"You didn't force me to do anything," Barry sighed. "It was always my choice. I couldn't just... let you die. M'too selfish."

Barry stayed in the entry, hugging himself and looking out at the front lawn through the large, bay window. Oliver couldn't take his eyes off his husband, afraid that he'd leave, that he'd truly had enough of him, Bond or no. As much as it had hurt to hear, he understood where Barry was coming from when he said he'd save his parents. Barry Allen would save everyone if he could, even at the cost of his own happiness. And that just wouldn't do- there was nothing in the world, in the entire universe, that Oliver wanted more than for Barry to be happy. If that meant he had to leave- or that Barry would- he had to accept it. As selfish as he was with his love, he knew that Barry was that much more important, equal to Thea in his heart.

"I'm tired," Barry whispered. "I feel like… I've been tired for a long time. And I do. Love you. I've been in love with you since Keystone. But I don't know what I should do now."

"Well. What do you _want_ to do?"

"I want to pretend this never happened and kiss you. I want… I just want to do the right thing, but I don't know what that is anymore. I killed a man, Ollie," Barry continued with tears in his eyes, voice strained and small. "Two men. And I kind of killed you- no, don't. I know. But I don't feel as bad about you. And that- God, that makes me a monster, that I want you with me forever, even at the cost of your soul!"

"…Neither of us wanted this kind of life." Oliver spoke to the floor, to his toes on the tile that was as cool as his skin, now. "You definitely deserve better. Because you're not a monster, Barry. You're practically a saint! Do you know how many lives you've _saved_ since you met me? That deal with Mick, showing me that there could be good in vampires, and yeah, the other night, taking those two lives has spared countless future misery and deaths. I never would have believed… that I could be so happy with anyone. That all has to count for something, to God."

He felt the channel of the Bond crack open and immediately flooded it with all the things he still hadn't found the right words to express- the memories of their trip across the country, so many years ago; the sensation of Barry's hands on his skin, in his hair, making love to him; and every good feeling Barry had ever given him. His cheeks were damp and he watched silent tears roll down Barry's face- Oliver hadn't cried since he'd discovered his parent's bodies and he sent that through the Bond, too. Barry sobbed and stumbled forward, arms open, and Oliver fell into his embrace, crushing his husband to him as he felt Barry pick him up and spin him around. He was assailed with similar thoughts and emotions, Barry's view of their time together and the way Oliver had made him feel since the end of their very first evening together.

His nose found Barry's neck, the juncture of his shoulder there, and he inhaled until he was dizzy with the scent of Barry. Another deep breath eased out into a kiss and he began a trail that led up Barry's jaw and to his ear. "Why do you smell so good?"

Barry's laughter was loud and melodic and Oliver had missed that sound so much, he didn't care that it was at his expense. He was spun around again and set on his toes so that Barry could kiss him, slow and sweet, with a little nibble to his bottom lip at the end. "It's a new vampire thing," he whispered against Oliver's ear, making him shiver. "Other vampire's blood will smell… and taste better than a human's. Lasts a few weeks, less than a month. Then people start to smell better and better."

"…Can I taste you?"

"No." Barry leaned back, failing at suppressing his grin as he added, "You didn't say the magic word."

They were chased out of the kitchen by Sara when Oliver moved to throw Barry onto the table and strip him in front of the Lances. They raced upstairs, hand in hand, and spent the rest of the night making up for the few days they'd lost together; on the bed, in Barry's box that he hauled back into their room, on Oliver's desk, under the desk…

They watched the light change through the tiny sliver between the bedroom door and the carpet. When it began gently fading pink with the approaching dawn, Barry scooped up several heaping handfuls of his dirt and scattered them over the bed. He climbed on, pulling Oliver after him, further combining their earth into swirls of warm brown and rich, brick red. They slotted together perfectly; arms around each other and legs entangled.

"We're gonna figure this out together," Oliver murmured sleepily into the crook of Barry's neck. "An' you're gonna forgive yourself, forgive… me, someday. You're so good, Barry. You gotta- gotta see that."

Barry ran gentle fingers through his hair and Oliver hummed, practically purred at the sensation and contact they'd too-long denied each other. "Someday. Maybe. I'm only here 'cause of you, Ollie."

"Mm, no. No, be here for- for _you_ , first." It was difficult to argue with the sunrise lulling him to sleep, but Oliver tried. He pulled Barry tighter against him and sent positive thoughts, sloppy and half-formed, through the Bond. Barry chuckled, the sound warm and reverberating through Oliver's chest, kissing him on the temple as the hand in Oliver's hair slowed its petting. It was going to take time and effort to overcome both of their issues, and there would be more fights in the future, he could tell, but Oliver wouldn't change a thing about their relationship.

They fell asleep to the sound of their shared breaths and Oliver's soft snores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after for many, many, _many_ years!
> 
> The part where Barry and Sara's blood smells better to Oliver (at first) was inspired by Brian Lumley's vampires, who report that the best blood comes from other vampires (they're all a bunch of pricks and horrible monsters- not like our protagonists). It's also something I incorporated into the first vampire AU I started writing early this year (and remains unfinished and unpublished for reasons). I drew many traits from Lumley's vampires because they're my favourites, even though the vampires in my story are mostly good- to neutral people. :)
> 
> Extra special shout-outs to [Maji](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajinPiccolo/pseuds/MajinPiccolo), [Sophia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaCatherine/pseuds/SophiaCatherine), [PinkLetterDay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkLetterDay/pseuds/PinkLetterDay), and [StillNotGinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StillNotGinger10/pseuds/StillNotGinger10), though I seriously treasure every single kudos and comment I've gotten. It's going to take a while to respond to them all (how there are so many is still beyond me)!


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